A Passage from Middle-earth
by Sonic Sculpture
Summary: First volume of a trilogy intended as the sequel/conclusion to the collective works of JRR Tolkien; specifically The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings. All songs actually exist as mp3 recordings, some can be found at broadjam dot com backslash iamthunderings in a folder entitled Hallowed Ground. The trilogy is on file at Harper Collins UK, reviewed by David Brawn.
1. Chapter 1

**_A Passage from Middle-earth_**

_**Volume One**_ of **Beyond the War of the Ring**:

The sequel/conclusion to **The Lord of the Rings**,

The Silmarillion and The Hobbit by _J. R. R. Tolkien_

**Approximate Word count**: **111,111**

**Author's Note:**

With the exception of locations, proper names, and some song lyric

(which have been translated where applicably appropriate)

all forms of communication have been rendered in modern English.

A Passage from Middle-earth

**_Homeward_**

(_The Song of Samwise_)

I stood upon a mountain

and I thought about the wind

and how I wish that I could simply

fly to you, my friend

I sat beside a fountain

and I thought about the spray,

how in their rush some droplets

by the breeze are swept away

I'm coming home to you

There're just a few things that I must do

I'm hoping you'll understand

that I must complete the Task at hand

Sometimes the paths that we must take

are not those we would choose

Sometimes the things at stake

are not the ones that we can lose

But still in all I know the One

who holds us in His hand

And so I have to trust that all

will turn out as He planned

One day we'll be together

And it will be forever

I'm coming home to you

There're just a few things that I must do

A Passage from Middle-earth

**Chapter One: Hallowed Ground**

"This must be what it feels like to be an Elf," Samwise quietly observed. "You watch all of the things you love pass away while you remain."

He took no notice of the sudden concern in the eyes of his companions as they quickly fastened upon the trembling form of their friend. All he could see was the stark interruption in the blanket of grass before them, the mound under which his beloved Rosie, after many long decades of blissful marriage, now lay. The newly awakened blades already sparkled like shamrocks in the swift Shire spring. But his gardener's gaze uncharacteristically took no notice of the arriving life, only of the departing one. His friends spent the next several moments searching for something appropriate to say.

"No one can hold onto any of it," Pippin finally said softly, his statement revealing the wisdom that long reflection on their adventures had produced. "But I have to wonder if maybe even the parting won't last forever. Gandalf once spoke to me of the Far Shore. And it sounded to me like it was a mutual destination, an eternal gathering. I think we'll see all of our friends again there one day."

Pippin did not mention Frodo by name, and Merry took instant notice of this. It occurred to him that his friend was trying to comfort the one-time Ring Bearer without being too specific about the other losses they had experienced over the years.

On their way back from the trip they had taken, decades before, to attend the marriage of Faramir and Eowyn in Edoras, the trio passed through the gap of Rohan on its northernmost side. He and Pippin had wanted to introduce Samwise to Treebeard. In the course of their visit, they had all shared large cups of Entwash. Not only had the Ents' mysterious beverage added inches to the heights of each diminutive recipient, but it was becoming clear that additional years had been added to their lives as well. They were outliving all their friends. Of the trio from the fabled Fellowship, the spouse of Samwise was the last to pass. They had no way to tell if they would now live, like trees, into their hundreds; but Merry understood only too well the sentiment his bereft companion was trying to express. And he could see why the Elves had finally chosen to leave Middle-earth. Such had become the topic of their far too numerous, graveside conversations.

Pippin politely reminded his friends that a large meal had been prepared for Rosie's wake. Samwise hardly looked hungry, but he allowed himself to be ushered along the idyllic walkway that led out of the cemetery. The rest of his family had already vanished up the path.

Upon reaching the house, they found that numerous staples and delicacies had already been laid out. It was in fact the most food Sam had ever seen in his kitchen at once. Apparently, he thought, his children were afraid that, if he were left to his own devices, he would starve to death and waste away. A large number of the items had also been presented in ways that would facilitate easy storage and long keeping.

No one had known if he would want to sit down for a formal dinner, and the grandchildren had been anxious, so the youngsters were already digging in. Indicating the bounty spread around the kitchen as he passed through it on his way to a sitting room at the back of the hobbit hole, Sam simply nodded his permission for everyone else to follow suit. Merry and Pippin paused just long enough to hurriedly fill plates before they quickly followed after him.

As they watched him cross the living room, his two closest companions noted that there was much conversation in the normally quiet home. But as Sam passed by each of the ones who were doing the talking, they would abruptly pause. They seemed uncertain as to whether they should attempt to include the widower in their discourse or if they should respect his solitude. Merry and Pippin however had spent considerable time, before the ceremony, discussing ways to handle their grieving friend. Reminiscing about their old adventures, they had concluded, seemed to be the most reasonable course of action, even though they knew it was also fraught with many potential pitfalls.

With one hand, Merry managed to secure the handles of two mugs of ale. The second was intended for their host. Sam had never really been much of a drinker, especially of late. But Merry doubted that he would abstain, especially if encouraged not to. They were not trying to lead him to drown his sorrows, as if Sam would ever resort to such things, but his friends did want to see him relax. And it did seem reasonable to conclude that a pint or two might help him get in the mood to share in the storytelling. They particularly liked hearing him recall those desperate moments when he had taken up Sting and the Light of Earendil and served as the Ring Bearer himself, rescuing Frodo from a monstrous spider and a tower full of Orcs. Their plan was to persuade him to dwell for awhile in such legendary personal history.

If that did not work, they might have to try and recruit him for a journey. Oftentimes Merry and Pippin had slipped out of the Shire, usually just for short jaunts. Occasionally they would travel to the west and visit the Grey Havens where they had said farewell to Frodo, Gandalf, and the Elven Ring Bearers. More often they would journey east to the village of Bree, staying the night. On the way back they would cross through the Barrow Downs, entering the Old Forest. And there they would visit Old Tom Bombadil and Goldberry.

Being both a devoted husband and father, Samwise had never elected to participate in these adventures. Merry and Pippin knew that they might have to try and assuage the sorrow of their friend with a change of scenery, possibly even taking him all the way to Gondor to visit Elessar, the Elven name adopted by High King Aragorn, and High Queen Arwen. But they also understood that a fair amount of convincing would probably have to be done to secure such enlistment. And that was the other reason for the ale.

Sam accepted the ale, but he then did not seem particularly compliant with their request that he entertain them with the required tale. Since he was the only one not eating, Merry and Pippin had to rise to the challenge of maintaining the conversation while emptying their plates. Recent history seemed to be the most relevant subject, as obtained through their Seeing Stone of which Pippin was the official Keeper.

One of the Seeing Stones had been recovered from Isengard. Another had been discovered among the ruins of the fallen Dark Tower in Mordor. High King Elessar had also found one in the White Tower, apparently used by the late Steward, Denethor, and responsible for driving him mad. A fourth had been unearthed in Moria. They were now in the White Tower of Gondor, Isengard in Rohan, Moria, and the Shire respectively.

The Keepers served as the Eyes of the King in the far reaches of his realm. And for a time there had been many regularly scheduled meetings conducted with the use of the Seeing Stones. As the years had gone by however it had gradually come to the point where the only scheduled conference was held on midsummer's day. Occasionally Pippin would encounter another of the Keepers if he looked into the Palantir between the appointed meetings. But he attempted its use only infrequently now. Some of the others, the High King and Queen in particular, seemed to have the ability to bend the Seeing Stones to their will and make them reveal whatever was required. Pippin was not that adept. And he was somewhat embarrassed by this failing since he was called a Keeper.

Between mouthfuls of food Merry and Pippin talked about how marvelous it was that Gimli and the Dwarves had been able to retake Moria. Clandestinely they were trying to sow seeds of interest on the part of their host. They talked about the rebuilding of the Bridge of Khazad Dum and how, after expelling the Orcs, the Dwarves had resumed their extraction of the only deposit of Mithril known to exist anywhere. Merry went so far as to fantasize about the royal welcome they would surely receive if they were ever to make such a journey.

For many long years Gimli had been the Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond. But at last his heart had been stirred to retake the fastness of Khazad Dum. Dwalin's son, Dwain, had come of age. To him, Gimli had diffidently passed the responsibility for maintaining the Citadel of Flowering Stones. King Eomer was saddened to hear that the Dwarf Lord, his good friend and compatriot, was passing beyond his realm, for Moria lay north of the borders of Rohan at Nimrodel. But he was glad that their alliance was being honored by a remaining Dwarfish presence in the caverns behind Helm's Deep.

Pippin took the opportunity to mention that during their most recent communication with Gimli, through the Palantir, an effort on the part of the Dwarves to find an alternate location, where they could open a doorway in the west side of the Misty Mountains, had been referenced. There were a number of relatively unexplored tunnels that led to the north of where the old backdoor had been located, and they were in the process of trying to determine whether one of these might lead them close enough to the western face of the range to enable excavating through. Pippin suggested that, if they had succeeded, a journey to Moria would require crossing far less distance now than even a journey to the Gap of Rohan.

Neither of Sam's disappointed companions detected the slightest spark of interest in the possibility of such a journey. But they kept shoving mugs of ale into his hand as they continued their discussion late into the evening. Merry made a final comment about how the Dwarves were not really much taller than hobbits, and how it would be good to visit an old friend that did not tower over them. This, to his surprise, actually produced a chuckle from their host. Despite not having actually intended to do so, it was quite apparent that they had succeeded in seriously inebriating their friend. If not for the fact that he was obviously incapable of thinking about his recent loss coherently enough to be depressed about it, they might have felt badly. Instead, Pippin was grinning stupidly, winking at Merry, as they managed to be the last guests to leave. As the door of Sam's hobbit hole finally closed behind them, they turned to amble imprecisely in the direction of their respective homes.

Having not partaken in the veritable banquet, but having put all that ale into a nearly empty stomach, Sam was staggering badly by the time he finally dismissed his guests at the doorway. Finding his way back to the bedroom, which took much longer than usual, he collapsed in a heap on the bed. His head was swimming with alcohol, and his mind was filled with jumbled images of Gimli and the Dwarves, as he drifted off into a highly intoxicated sleep.

As he dreamt, the visions of the night began to take on a strangely precise focus. He felt as if he were actually standing among such bearded companions. They were in the process of trying to extend a passage that went to the left, which he somehow knew to be westward. It was Gimli that stepped back as he wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned his pickax against the side of the tunnel. The entire group noticed the hollow sound that the strike of the tool's handle produced as it smacked against the rock wall.

The Dwarves furiously attacked the rocky partition, collapsing it in only a matter of minutes. As the dust of their assault settled, an immense chamber was revealed before them. Sam seemed to automatically move with him as Gimli, with torch in hand, stepped through first. Waving his torch from side to side, it began to be apparent that they were not the first visitors to the horrifying hall. Shackles dangled from the walls, some of them complete with skeletal remains. Sam heard Gimli gasp as the Dwarf Lord suddenly realized the legendary location upon which he had chanced.

"Angband," Gimli whispered into the seemingly determined darkness before him. The very shadows appeared to cling like living things around the edges of his torchlight. Somehow bereft of the ability to order his own movements, Sam stood helplessly beside him, listening as the Dwarf Lord added a hushed warning to his companions. "We dare not stay long in here, lads," he said gruffly.

Sam was deeply relieved when the stocky figure of his friend finally began to retreat towards the gash, which they had made in the nightmarish chamber's back wall. But the other Dwarf, with whom Gimli had entered, was still swinging his torch back and forth, trying to identify the room's sinister contents. And his question stayed their backward progress.

"What is that thing?" he hissed.

There were a number of weapons and implements of torture strewn about the floor. But one large, dark object occupied its center. As both torches were held out in its direction, the combined light revealed that it, too, was a weapon; but it was immense. It looked to Sam like a war hammer, but it was far bigger than even the bludgeon with which the Cave Troll had attacked them when the Fellowship passed through Moria before. Gimli however seemed to know what they had found as he motioned for the other Dwarves to enter and retrieve it. The shadowed expression on the Dwarf Lord's face seemed to imply that it was a trophy of particular significance. But only a single word ushered from his lips as he helped his companions pull the huge artifact out of the chamber and down the passage.

"Grond," he said in an excited whisper.

Sam was left standing at the entrance, peering into the darkness from which the apparently legendary object had been removed. He seemed to be paralyzed. But it was not so much out of fear as it was from premonition. And although it cast no light through the darkness at the room's other end, he was certain that he began to hear the sound of flame moving in the background. It was with a start that he awakened.

He was drenched with sweat and trembling. The effects of the alcohol had been overridden by the adrenaline that was now coursing through his veins. He attempted to bolt out of the bed; but he fell to the floor, tangled in the bedclothes. As he rushed from his home and out into the night, he never even paused to consider how fortunate it was that he had fallen asleep fully dressed.

Several sustained minutes of pounding on Pippin's door produced no response, except from his neighbors. But when they recognized the offending party, they seemed to reconsider their outrage, disappearing again behind their doors and curtains. Sam considered how unseasonably warm the spring night was and wondered if he might find Pippin's bedroom window open. Luckily, he did.

Pippin was extremely difficult to rouse. And even after Sam managed to awaken him, Pippin was so groggy that he kept trying to nod back off. Each time Sam turned his attention away from him to light another of the household lamps; he would have to wake Pippin up all over again. He finally grabbed his host by the back of his pajama shirt, physically lifted him from the bed, and half carried him into the room with the Seeing Stone. The Keeper however seemed unable to either retain the information that was being shared with him or to understand what his unexpected guest was asking him to do. And Sam's fearful desperation was quickly turning into impatient anger.

As Sam was recounting the elements of his dream yet again, Pippin suddenly exclaimed, "Grond? That's what the Orcs called the battering ram that was used against the gate of Minas Tirith. But Gandalf told me it was a name borrowed from history. That's all I know. And I won't be able to contact anyone for you with the Palantir unless they're already on, which I doubt at this hour."

"Fine!" Sam concluded. "Just tell me how to work this thing and I'll do it myself."

Pippin stared at him blankly for a moment before candidly admitting, "But I don't know how to work it."

"What?" demanded Sam in confused disbelief. "What are you saying? I've seen you work it!"

"No, you haven't; not really," was Pippin's embarrassed reply. "You've seen me put my hands on it, announcing my presence. But if none of the other Keepers are already there, I just have to wait. I can't make it do anything else."

"But High King Elessar and High Queen Arwen can make theirs show them anything they want!" Sam objected. "I've seen them do it!"

"Don't you think I know that?" asked Pippin dejectedly. "I'm not really much of a Keeper. It's like having an unsharpened blade; it's really nothing more than a ceremonial possession. I can't do what you're asking. I don't know how."

"Pip, something is terribly wrong," Sam went on, unrelentingly. "And the Seeing Stone is the only tool we have that can show us what's happening. Does Merry know how to make it work?"

"I really don't think so," he sadly replied. But anxious not to remain the sole focus of Sam's impatient insistence, he suggested, "But maybe he'd have some idea of what we should do. I've always gone to him for advice."

Sam was momentarily tempted to reward that admission with ridicule, but he knew that there might be a slight chance of Merry having a worthwhile proposition. He could not afford to casually dismiss the possibility that the Esquire of Rohan, who had smote the Lord of the Ring Wraiths, could be of some assistance, even if Merry had not actually achieved the deed single-handedly.

Sam's growing sense of desperation insisted that he do something. Standing around and berating Pippin simply was not accomplishing anything. Determinedly dragging his bleary friend along with him out into the dimly lit wisps of the Shire morning, Samwise proceeded in the direction of the hobbit hole that belonged to Merry.

Merry actually answered the door, but seemed to peer at the pair before him for several long moments before recognition finally set in. Sighing with exasperation, Sam brusquely heaved the circular door aside, sweeping Pippin's stumbling form along with him, without even waiting to be invited in. In confusion, Merry elected to simply step out of the way.

Minutes later, Sam was repeating the events of his dream to his host for the third time while Merry fumbling made coffee. Pippin sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands the whole time. Sam kept glancing at him to make sure he was still awake. And he appeared to be; unless, like Gandalf, he was able to sleep with his eyes open. His gaze did slowly drift towards the cup however as their host placed it if front of Pippin and then sat down at his side.

"If I really understand what it is you want," said Merry, pausing to blow across the steaming liquid in his own mug, "then I'm afraid Pippin is right. I know less about the Seeing Stone than he does. I'm sure I wouldn't be able to make it do anything that he can't. And I really don't think it's a matter of knowledge. I think King Elessar and Queen Arwen have some kind of innate ability that we, quite simply, do not."

"Then it's hopeless," Sam concluded despondently. "It would take a couple of months for us to get to them, at least. And we don't have that kind of time."

"We may not have a couple of months," Merry agreed. "But we have a couple of days at the very least, I should think. Isn't it a four-day journey from one side of Moria to the other? Shouldn't that give us enough time to do something?"

"But what?" Sam demanded. "What could we possibly do in that short a time?"

"Besides the royal couple," Merry replied, thinking out loud; "the only other person in Middle-earth whom I'm reasonably sure could work the Palantir actually lives only a few days away."

Pippin's interest seemed to be roused by the anticipated suggestion as he stopped his noisy sipping long enough to ask, "Do you mean?"

"Tom Bombadil," answered Merry, nodding.

"Of course!" Samwise boisterously agreed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're not an Esquire of Rohan or a Guard of the Citadel," Pippin replied teasingly, apparently now much more fully awake. "You just used to be a Ring Bearer."

"You're not really a Guard of the Citadel anymore either, Pip," said Merry as he elbowed his friend and nearly made him spill his coffee. "But you're supposed to be the Eyes of the King; if you can just keep them open, that is!"

"Yeah, and not crossed," Sam chimed in, reaching across the table and waving his finger in front of Pippin's nose.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere without breakfast," stated Pippin flatly. "You can't start a trip on an empty stomach."

"You drank as much as either one of us. How can you even feel your stomach, Pip?" asked Merry incredulously. He then paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and said, "Now hold on a moment. We might not even have to go anywhere. Pippin, you recall the words of his song, don't you?"

Sam nodded appreciatively when, after a second's pause, his friends began to sing,

"Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!

By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,

By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!

Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!"

After the passage of several minutes, during which nothing happened, Merry finally suggested, "Perhaps we're just too far away, or maybe it will take him awhile to respond. The Barrow Downs are right next to the Old Forest, but Hobbiton is much further away. If he doesn't show up soon, I guess we had better plan on making the trip ourselves; or, perhaps we will meet him on the way."

"There's still a lot of food at my place and most of it would be easy to pack for the road too," said Samwise. "Merry, you should stay here just in case he shows up, while Pippin and I go and get our things together. We'll come back here and have a proper breakfast before we start out. But we should be sure to bring anything we might need. If something is as wrong as I fear, we may actually need to take that trip to Gondor. And if so, there probably won't be time to double back for anything we've left behind."

After hurriedly finishing their coffee, they briefly parted company. Sam and Pippin headed off in different directions. But the one-time Ring Bearer did not head immediately for his home. There was a more pressing matter to which he needed to attend.

The sun was just hugging the hazy horizon, sending forth beams of glistening gold over the startling shamrock of the Shire, as Sam arrived at the doorway of his eldest daughter's family. He could tell, by the lights through the windows and the whistle of the kettle, that she was already up and about. He knocked softly, trying not to wake the children for whom, he knew, she was busily fixing breakfast. Her golden hair suddenly betrayed her presence as she poked her head through a nearby window to identify the unexpected, early morning guest. She brightened visibly as she recognized her father. The fact that she rushed to the door was evidenced by how immediately it opened.

When he went to attend the marriage of Faramir and Eowyn, King Elessar and Queen Arwen had insisted that he visit them, however briefly, in Gondor. He had taken the opportunity to procure special gifts for every member of his family. It seemed like the least thing he could do to make up for the extended absence. The housecoat, which had eventually passed from Rosie to their eldest daughter, had actually been fashioned for a human child. But it gave the figure before him an almost Elven appearance as she stepped back to usher him into her dwelling. The light in her eyes added to the effect, as did the beatific smile on her face. In her adulthood, he had been stunned to realize that she often reminded him of the Lady of the Wood. And her uncanny ability to see what was on a person's mind also reminded Sam of that fabled figure, as it did now.

"You've come to tell me that you're leaving," said Elanor softly. "And you don't know if you'll be coming back. We've actually been expecting that it would come to this ever since Mom first got sick."

He had been trying to figure out what he was going to say to her, and had failed to come up with the right words; so, upon suddenly realizing that the moment had been long foreseen, he immediately choked up. She saw that his composure was slipping. And desperately wishing to foreshorten the uncomfortable situation since they had both just experienced a deeply personal loss, she simply leaned forward and embraced him. Her eyes were wet as she finally backed away. But she was still smiling.

"How did you know?" he brokenly asked her.

"Bilbo left. Frodo left. And your friends have barely been able to stay in the Shire," she gently replied. "I'd thought we might be able to keep you around for a few days, maybe even a couple of weeks. The fact that you're here so early tells me that this choice has been forced on you. There is something important you have to do. And it won't wait. My father is rushing off to save the world again."

He was shaking his head in disbelief at her intuitive ability as he finally said, "Yes, something like that. You'll tell everyone, won't you?"

Despite her best efforts, the tears began to fall as she smiled again and replied, "Of course, I already did."

"Of course you did," he laughingly agreed through the tears that overflowed his face. He paused to take her chin in his hand and kiss her on the forehead. Then he smiled, as reassuringly as he could, and hesitantly turned from the familiar comfort of her dwelling.

Somehow she must have mastered her emotions because, by the time he passed through the flowered gate and back out into the carefully tended lane, he could hear her clear voice wafting through the windows at the front of the hobbit hole.

"The road goes ever on and on," she beautifully sang, "down from the door, where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can."

Frodo had left Bag End to Samwise; however, he had not lived there long. Instead, he let it pass back to a Baggins, one of Frodo's more distant relatives, and split the proceeds with Merry and Pippin. Between what they got from that sale, and the stipend they each received from the kings of Rohan and Gondor, the trio had been able to comfortably raise their respective families. And the offices in which they served had also supplemented their incomes.

Samwise had been Mayor for a grand total of seven times and had accordingly lived in Michelle Delving. At his request, the Thain, Peregrin Took, had also made Fastred, Elanor's husband, Warden of Westmarch. But as Rosie became increasingly unwell, and it also became harder for their few surviving friends to travel, Sam finally refused to run for reelection. Everyone, including the Thain and the Master of Buckland, moved to the more centralized location of Hobbiton, although it became necessary for all officiating to be conducted by courier. With the death of Rosie, Samwise knew Fastred and Elanor would soon return to Westmarch.

After collecting his things, he returned to Merry's. Pippin arrived shortly after he did. Tom Bombadil had not materialized in the interim. To Samwise, neither of his friends looked particularly prepared for the long journey ahead. He could only hope that a good breakfast would help them. While he prepared coffee, he had each of them recite to him the items they were bringing along. Pippin was of course bringing the Palantir. Along with other personal items and changes of clothes, he also had brought along his sword and uniform of office. Merry had laid out his battle attire, including the sword that he had been given as a replacement. His original blade had disintegrated when he used it to smite the Lord of the Ring Wraiths. But he had also brought along the hilt of that weapon, saying it was his good luck charm and he never went on a journey without it. Both of them wanted to change into their warrior garb before taking to the road. Sam told them that they would be able to do that while he repacked. Breakfast, not unexpectedly, turned into an extended affair.

While Merry and Pippin changed clothes, Sam prepared the provisions for the road. He also took the opportunity to repack his things. Into his pack he placed the Phial that Galadriel had given to Frodo. The Ring Bearer had borne the enchanted vessel into the West; of that, Samwise was certain. But one year to the day after Frodo was spirited away from Middle-earth, Samwise had felt compelled to return to the Grey Havens. Arriving at sunset, his attention had been immediately drawn to a strange light on the shore. The Phial was lying there in the sand with the tide washing up around it. There were no tracks. And as the waves began to overflow the Phial, it failed to float. He had no idea how it had arrived. But it was his first indication of unfinished business. Its light faded as he picked it up, and it had never shown since. But he believed it had been sent back to him for such an hour as this. With the Phial he also took Sting. Along with the Red Book, the record of their adventure, Frodo had passed the enchanted Elven blade into his keeping. It had been years since he had unsheathed it, but it still gleamed as he slipped it from its scabbard to examine it. He shook his head silently, reminiscing.

With Merry dressed as an Esquire of Rohan and Pippin dressed as a Guard of the Citadel, it made Sam, who was dressed in his usual traveling gear, look as if he were the friar of the group. Pippin jokingly asked him if he would say a blessing over their journey. He surprised the Keeper by complying.

Leaving Hobbiton, they set out along the Great East Road. Passing Bywater on the left, they made their way across the Brandywine Bridge. Buckland, of which Merry had been made the Master, was to their south. He deeply regretted that he had not recently visited his old digs, since it seemed uncertain if they would have an opportunity to return. He and Pippin, the Thain, were both counted as Counselors of the North Kingdom and had left papers indicating their abdication from those offices. Finally no longer the Mayor, Samwise was free of any such responsibility. There is some dissention as to the exact date of their departure, even the precise year.

(_Since it was not necessary for Sam to abandon an office in order to undertake the expedition, and there was no paper trail to follow, some historians have apparently failed to place him in the company of his friends. I must ask the reader to be forgiving if aware of any alternate accounts. Since Elanor and her family almost immediately moved back to Westmarch, and Samwise had just lost Rosie, many hobbits erroneously assumed that the widower relocated with them. Tradition holds that he left Middle-earth in the same year that Rosie passed away, yet while his friends from the Fellowship were still in the Shire. This is as untrue as it is unlikely. The truth is that they all left the Shire in 1482. It simply took two years for the offices, which had been abandoned by Merry and Pippin, to finally be effectively filled. Exhaustive investigation has ultimately exposed the following, incontrovertible account. The manner in which the Red Book finally returned to Westmarch will be recounted later in this report_.)

After they crossed the Bridge, they began moving along the northern edge of the Old Forest. On their first trip into those perilous woods, they had entered of necessity from approximately the middle backside, just east of Buckland. They had departed, with the assistance of Tom Bombadil, through the Barrow Downs, headed eastward. He had instructed them to come and go along that route whenever they wished to visit him, so their intention was to leave the road and turn southward once they reached the Barrow Downs. Traveling along the eastern edge of the Old forest, they would eventually reach the Withywindle. By following it, they knew they could find the house of Tom Bombadil.

Whether because of their diminutive stature or their peculiarly mixed garb, they received odd looks from some of the folk they met on the road once they had crossed the Brandywine Bridge. But they encountered no difficulties, and they finally reached the Downs just before the evening of the second day of their journey. They planned to camp under the shadow of the Old Forest and were hoping to reach their destination by the evening of the next day. To that end, they pushed southward until well after dusk before they finally made camp.

Upon waking, they elected to reach the headwaters of the Withywindle before breaking fast. It was a particularly sweet stream that, especially to Merry and Pippin, had a taste reminiscent of Entwash. By the time it was in sight however they realized that they could just espy a figure between two of the lower hills to the east. It looked, curiously, like Tom Bombadil.

Abandoning the cover of the forest's edge, they began to cautiously move in the direction of the faintly familiar form. And the closer they got, the more certain they became that it was in fact their old friend. Until they drew very near however they were mystified by both his presence and his industry. They were stunned to realize that he was putting the Downs to their ancient use, as the fresh mound of dirt before him clearly suggested. From the delicately hewn headstone, they suddenly understood that it was Goldberry's grave.

"Not you too," said Samwise involuntarily, shaking his head. Abruptly understanding why Tom had not responded, he added, "So this is why the song failed to summon you."

The figure suddenly spun around. It had been decades since Samwise had seen Bombadil, so he was even more amazed than Merry and Pippin by how little the man appeared to have aged. There was a strange light in his eyes. But whether it betrayed the passage of time, or simply the passage of his wife, the hobbits could not tell. He regarded the trio before him for several moments before he finally addressed them.

"My friends," he said softy. "It's a sad day that you've picked for a visit. I'm sorry that I'm not really prepared to receive guests today, as I'm sure you can see."

"I put Rosie to rest only a couple of days ago myself," said Samwise heavily. "This isn't just a social call, or I wouldn't even be here. And the timing is not of our choosing, but we don't intend to impose on you. If you can please just help us understand what we might have to do, then we'll be on our way."

"What you might have to do?" Bombadil echoed in confusion. "About what?"

Samwise quickly recounted the elements of his dream. He could see that the name of Angband had a profound effect on the countenance of their already troubled friend. When Samwise mentioned Grond, Bombadil actually winced. It was obvious that they had found someone who could provide insight into the vision, although it seemed equally apparent that it was going to be extremely bad news. Explaining how the limitations of the Keeper prevented them from investigating the matter themselves, Sam asked Pippin to produce the Palantir. The look of amazement and recognition, which swept across their friend's face, was a sight to behold.

"One of the lost Seeing Stones!" he exclaimed.

"Can you use this to find out what's happening in Moria?" asked Samwise.

Bombadil swept his gaze across the Downs before replying, "I'd rather not use this here. We should go back to my house. The Palantir is sensitive to its surroundings, and you should be allowed to rest from your journey. If you would please, pack that back up and follow me."

Following the bank of the Withywindle, Bombadil quickly led them out of the Barrow Downs and into the Old Forest. As sylvan as were the hobbits, even they had great difficulty keeping up with the fleetly fleeing figure. Despite the passage of time, Old Tom Bombadil still seemed to be as swift and spry as a mountain goat. But truthfully, the Halflings had wonderful fun making a game of trying to catch him.

Hurriedly stumbling through the open doorway and into the living room, they found Bombadil drawing the curtains. Perceiving that his guests had yet to break their fast, he encouraged them to do so. As they were producing the provender from their packs, he asked Pippin for the Palantir. The Keeper gladly surrendered the burden, which their host then placed on the large table near the room's center. The hobbits brought along their selected edibles and joined him.

Laying his arms along the tabletop, Bombadil held out his hands in the direction of the orb. It was only a moment before images began to form. They rushed by in such rapid succession that it was difficult for the hobbits to tell exactly what they were seeing. But then the view suddenly dove underground. They recognized the stone corridors of Moria. The rock passages seemed as if they were illuminated by the very energies that first had formed them. They swept by so quickly; it was like watching the view from some type of projectile.

Torchlight abruptly became visible in the quickly approaching distance. The shifting perspective of the magical view suddenly came to a halt as Bombadil caused it to hold its position. A large group of Dwarves, all bearing torches, went rushing by. From the viewpoint of the observers, they seemed to pass by on either side of the Palantir. A large object was slung between them, which they carried as they hurried by. Gimli was at the head of the column, and they were all breathing heavily from the exertion. They ran as if the devil himself were behind them.

For a moment, the view spun all the way around, revealing the retreating forms from behind. From this angle, it was clear that the object was the same war hammer that Sam had seen being extracted from the newly opened, horrific chamber. He understood that Bombadil had simply been confirming this. The view returned again to the direction from which the Dwarves had come, and then began racing down the passageway again. It was not long before some other form of firelight became visible, also rushing to meet their spectral perspective. This illumination however had a single source. And it was one the hobbits each recognized in horror.

"A Balrog!" Samwise exclaimed in terrified disbelief as Bombadil mercifully elected to let the dreadful image fade.

"But Gandalf killed the Balrog!" Pippin loudly objected. "How can there be another one?"

"And he is not just any Balrog," Bombadil gently informed him. "He is Nargurth, the lieutenant of Gothmog. His name in the Sindarin tongue means fire of death, or flaming death. Before being slain, during the fall of Gondolin, Gothmog was the Lord of the Balrogs. He and a very mighty Elf named Ecthelion, after whom the tower of Minas Tirith and the grandfather of Faramir are named, killed each other in combat. I'd hoped that his lieutenant had perished when the Valar destroyed Angband. This is the worst of possible developments."

"Who are the Valar? What was Angband?" demanded Samwise, shakily. "And what in the world is Grond?"

"Hurry and finish your breakfast; we need to return to the Downs," Tom Bombadil replied unexpectedly.

Pippin looked hesitantly back and forth between the food in his hand and the now darkened Seeing Stone, seeming to have unbelievably lost his appetite. But Merry was the one who raised the expected objection.

"But we've only just arrived!" he stammered. And then, emulating an expression of Gandalf the Grey, he quietly concluded, "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late."

"There's something I must do, and it requires a large clearing," Bombadil explained. "Also, your questions deserve answers. But the trees of the Old Forest do not need to hear such a tale, and Barrow Wights already know it. Bring all of your things, we will not be returning here. There's no time for an explanation now; if we do not hurry, there may soon be no time left for anything."

Frightened and confused, the hobbits hurriedly repacked. While they did, Bombadil gathered his own personal effects. In a matter of minutes, they were racing back up the path by which they had just come. This time however Bombadil demonstrated an even greater speed than before, soon outdistancing them. When they finally reached the edge of the forest, by passing along the banks of the Withywindle, they discovered that he had already climbed one of the nearer hills out in the vast expanse of the Barrow Downs.

They soon realized that the considerable distance, which he had put between them, was actually for their benefit. If they had been standing close at hand, the volume of the screech, which suddenly erupted from the far-flung figure, would almost certainly have injured them. Baffled and concerned that the performance might be repeated, they remained at the forest's edge and waited. It seemed as if Tom Bombadil was awaiting a response.

Only moments later, his cry was echoed from somewhere up in the sky. Samwise had been unconscious when the Great Eagles rescued the Ring Bearers from the side of Mount Doom. He had never before set eyes on one of the Lords of the Air. Merry and Pippin had seen them in combat with the flying mounts of the Ring Wraiths when King Elessar led the armies of Gondor and Rohan to the Black Gate of Mordor. But many decades had passed by since they beheld one of these dreadnaughts of the sky gracing the heavens with its presence.

It seemed unthinkable that a mere mortal should be able to converse with such a seemingly supernatural creature. And yet, that is precisely what appeared to take place. In fact, it looked like Bombadil and the winged spectacle had a protracted discussion. At the end of it, the Great Eagle quickly mounted up into the heavens with a speed that defied belief. It cried out as it went, and its calls were answered. Others of its kind joined it as it speedily flew almost directly into the east.

The three hobbits rushed across the interposing distance, joining Bombadil as he arrived at the base of the hill. He seemed lost in thought; and he was not immediately forthcoming about the meaning of the meeting they had just witnessed. But initially the hobbits were too out of breath to formulate a question. As his faraway gaze finally came to rest upon them, his statement did not yield the explanation they sought.

"I may have bought us a little time," he said, "but the race is now on in earnest. We must go."

"Go where?" wheezed a bewildered Samwise. "What did you just do?"

"To Mordor," replied Bombadil heavily. "I have sent the Great Eagles to the east side of Moria. The Balrog has wings and can fly, but I've charged them with keeping it on the ground. So, there's at least a chance that we might get there before it does. So great is our need, I even considered having a few of them bear us directly there. But there just aren't many of them left, and I had to be sure their number was sufficient to keep the enemy grounded."

"Bilbo and Frodo used to say that Gandalf was a veritable fountain of information, if only they could figure out what he was talking about!" panted Samwise. "This must be what they meant! But I'm not a Baggins, and you're not Gandalf!"

"But you are a Ring Bearer and I am a Wizard," replied Old Tom Bombadil to the astonishment of the hobbits. "Five of us came from the West to help unify the races of Middle-earth against Sauron. In his youth in the West, the Wizard you call Gandalf was Olorin; but the people of Gondor know him as Mithrandir. Saruman was also known by different names. When I served as a member of the White Council, also consisting of Elrond and Galadriel, I was known as Radagast the Brown. I stayed here in Middle-earth when the others of my order, the Istari, returned into the West. I had married a mortal woman who would not have been able to accompany me: Goldberry. And I took a name that would help me to move among her kind."

Pippin was obviously too stunned to say anything, but Merry seemed almost outraged as he accusingly said, "In all the times Pip and I visited you, you never said any of this to us!"

"I'm sorry," Radagast softly responded. "It was not for lack of friendship. There was no need. Things have changed."

"I'm still trying to understand how much has changed and why," Sam interjected. "Why is the Balrog such a threat? Where did it come from? And why on earth are we going back to Mordor?"

"If I'm truly going to explain all of this to you, then I suppose I must start at the very beginning," he answered. He then paused. His voice took on a wistful tone, as if he were envisioning the things he described, as he continued, "In the beginning there was Eru, the One, also known by the Elves as Iluvatar. To you, He would be called God. He it was who created the Ainur, or the Powers, also known to the Elves as the Valar. They are mighty beings, able to take physical form at will, and they also possess great power. And He created the Maiar. They are much like the Valar, except their power is of a lesser degree, for the most part. The Istari, or Wizards, are of the Maiar. Eru presented all of them with a powerful theme, the music that began the Song of Creation. He invited them to join in.

"Many beautiful themes were introduced by the Valar. And the Maiar also helped. But as the Song progressed, the mightiest of the Valar, Melkor, began trying to take control of the Song. He introduced many dissonant and contrary themes. And in order to maintain his own composition in the face of the beautiful music he was attempting to subvert, his themes became repetitive and monotonous. Some of the Maiar joined in with him and his attempt to thwart the melodies that the other Valar were creating with Iluvatar. At length, the intrusion of Melkor abruptly came to an end. But some of the evil Maiar, which had joined in with him, continued to odiously echo its diabolically disruptive themes.

"Iluvatar then revealed Arda, the world, and showed them what they had all helped to create. And the Valar and the Maiar then entered into this creation to see how the themes all played out. The Valar founded Valinor in the West, the Blessed Realm. But Melkor departed from them into Middle-earth, along with all the evil Maiar that had joined with him. Taking shapes consistent with their temperament, most of these became the Balrogs of whom Gothmog and Nargurth may have been the mightiest. But there were two others who were the most powerful of all the fallen Maiar. The worst of these was a ravenous force called Ungoliant. And the other was Melkor's lieutenant, Sauron the Deceiver.

"Twice the Valar rallied against Melkor, destroying his fortress in the north of Middle-earth. The first time, they merely imprisoned him. Upon his release, he craftily feigned rehabilitation. The Queen of the Valar had created the Two Trees to light Valinor, for the sun and the moon had not yet been formed. And Middle-earth was illuminated only by starlight, which is why the Elves hold it in such high regard. For they, the firstborn of the Children of Iluvatar, had come into the world. And one of them, a mighty Elf named Feanor, managed to capture light from the Two Trees in Three Sacred Jewels, the Silmarils.

"With the help of the spider-like, darkness-spinning Ungoliant, Melkor attacked Valinor during festival, destroying the Two Trees, stealing the Silmarils, and then fleeing again into Middle-earth. The allocation of the life forces that became the sun and the moon was in response to this terrible loss. And all that was left of that original light was in the Silmarils. After that, Melkor was known to the Elves as Morgoth, the Great Enemy. They pursued him into Middle-earth, intent on regaining the lost Silmarils. They fought many wars with his forces; until at last the Valar were entreated to finally and utterly defeat the Great Enemy. Morgoth's dungeon-fortress in the north of Middle-earth was called Angband, and the Valar attacked it with such fury that the world was broken in the process and many lands fell beneath the sea.

"But Morgoth was a coward to the end. He could have issued forth to meet them in combat with his mighty weapon: Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld. But he retreated into the vast pits of his domain and attempted to elude them in his labyrinths. And although they rent the world in digging him out and expelling him, so focused was their intent on the objective that they failed to rid the world of the other evils that managed to remain hidden there. Many of the Orcs, which he'd made from the hapless Elves that wandered into his snares, managed to escape through those tunnels. Some of the Dragons, which he had also created, did likewise; as also, apparently, did a couple of Balrogs. And Sauron fled before the wrath of the Valar. Of him you know only too well."

"But I still don't understand why you think it's going to Mordor," Samwise interjected. "And I'm not sure I see why you can't meet this one in combat yourself, like Gandalf did."

"I am only Radagast the Brown; he was Gandalf the Grey," Bombadil replied. "I do not wield the same power. He was also armed with a mighty Elf sword, Glamdring. And he was aided in no small part by one of the Three Elf Rings, for he was the Keeper of Narya, the Ring of Fire. Despite all of this, he still perished as a result of that conflict. He was sent back by the Valar. Even if the High King were to loan me his sword, Anduril, I could not hope to best such a foe. I would be slain, and the Flame of the West would be swallowed up in the Flame of Udun. It would be folly."

"But why is it going to Mordor?" Sam asked insistently. "And what is the danger?"

"The Balrog is capable of entering the fiery chasm in Mount Doom, summoning the power of, and remaking the One Ring," Radagast finally admitted to his obviously horrified audience. "When we looked through the Palantir, I also saw his mind. If Nargurth can succeed in clothing himself with even a remnant of the evil force that was Sauron, he will become an unstoppable enemy."

"But if neither you nor King Elessar can stop him, and even the Great Eagles can do nothing but slow him down, isn't it hopeless?" Merry finally found the voice to ask.

"There is always hope," Radagast replied, sounding remarkably like another Wizard they all used to know.

"And what hope is there?" asked Samwise quietly.

"When the strength of Wizards and of Kings will not suffice with the available armament," he replied, "then it is time to fashion a better Weapon."

"And how, pray tell, do we do that?" Pippin inquired.

"By turning the craft of the enemy against him," answered Radagast. "All of the other Rings became dependent on the power of the One. When it was unmade, they were rendered useless. If it is restored, there may be an opportunity to use them in defense if they can all be refashioned according to our design. The only three Dwarf Rings, which are still in existence, were recovered from the ruins of the Dark Tower along with one of the lost Palantiri. The Crown and Ring of the Lord of the Ring Wraiths were recovered from the battlefield after his demise. They're now on display in the White Tower. High King Elessar uses them to remind himself of how easily Men can fall into shadow, and to be ever vigilant. But the other Rings of Men are all in Mordor between the Black Gate and Mount Doom, where they fell. They were not destroyed when Mount Doom erupted, as is commonly reported. That rumor was allowed to spread so as to discourage the undesirables who might have taken up residence in the Black Land in order to look for them. Those Rings must be retrieved. And Mordor is now riddled with pits and crevices into which some of them have fallen. Many are far too narrow to be entered by Men or even Dwarves. But the three of you should be small enough to accomplish this task. You are carrying the Phial that Galadriel gave to Frodo, Samwise?"

"Yes, I am," answered Sam. Remembering Elanor and her enigmatic insight, he rhetorically asked, "How'd you know?"

"Hey now! I know the rhyme! I thought there were Seven Rings for the Dwarf Lords!" interjected Pippin before Radagast could respond. "What happened to the others?"

"The Dragons greedily consumed them," Radagast thoughtfully replied, "a further example of one evil being used to destroy another."

"And what's the best way to get to Mordor from here?" asked Merry, considering the logistics of their situation. "Pippin and I have been to both Edoras and Gondor a couple of times, and we've always taken the South Road out of Bree through the Gap of Rohan. But is that our best option? It is a very long journey by foot."

"Speed is of the essence," answered Radagast. "I would recommend that we take the Great East Road all the way to the Misty Mountains and cross the High Pass above Rivendell. Once we make it to the River Anduin, we can travel by boat all the way to the outskirts of Mordor. And we should have safe passage and be able to make excellent time once we're on the river. I should also be able to purchase a cart and a couple of horses or ponies in Bree to help us cross the initial leg of our journey. But we should be going now."

As they turned to follow their newly revealed guide toward the Great East Road, Pippin said, "There are a few things from your story I'm not clear on. Was the Great Enemy, Morgoth, totally destroyed? And why weren't all of the other evils, which had either joined with or been created by him, destroyed as well?"

"Morgoth himself will never trouble the world again, Pippin," Radagast assured him. "He was cast through the Door of Night beyond the Walls of the World into the Timeless Void. As for those things that were allowed to remain, I cannot answer for the Valar. I do not pretend to comprehend all of their purposes; nor, perhaps, am I supposed to. But despite all the evil that befell before his destruction, the Istari, whom they sent, and with the aid of every race of Middle-earth, did finally accomplish Sauron's downfall. And I do not believe it to be merely a coincidence that one of us remained yet in Middle-earth to face this final threat from the One Ring. Except for the little bit of help I afforded your company before, I now perceive that I've yet to play my part as their emissary in this drama."

"And just when it was beginning to seem like there was nothing left in the world for us to care about," ventured Samwise.

Radagast actually paused in his determined, steadfast amble just long enough to turn to the one-time Ring Bearer, in sober agreement, saying, "Precisely."

"I'm afraid there's also something I don't understand," said Samwise as the group continued its trek across the Barrow Downs. "I was there at the Council of Elrond, when Frodo volunteered to take the Ring to Mordor. There was some discussion concerning you. You are apparently one of the oldest beings in existence. And a number of different names were mentioned as belonging to you. But none of those names were Radagast. I didn't understand your apparent association with the power of the earth, nor did I get the feeling that Gandalf held you in particularly high esteem. I know we have a history that goes back a long way, and you certainly saved our lives before. But if you expect us to trust you in all of this, I think we deserve a full disclosure."

"Well said, Master Gamgee. And you shall have it, though it pains me think upon my current circumstances and the history that has placed me within them," Radagast slowly replied. "The Valar and the Maiar are the oldest living beings in the world, for we existed before the earth was made. And those Maiar who became the Istari did not all come into Middle-earth at the same time. I have been here since the very earliest Elder days, long before the others came over, which makes me a special mystery to the Elves. It was for love of Goldberry that I surrendered my place on the White Council. And I was deceived into believing that I did so with the blessing of the head of our order, Saruman the White.

"The forms, which we wear, represent our earthly power. The power, which we wield from Above, tends to go with us in an externalized form. And I had surrendered my Staff. I didn't just change my name in order to be with my beloved; in a very fundamental way, I actually changed my identity. And Lord Elrond didn't know I had changed my name from Radagast to Bombadil; for, unlike the other names you may have heard, this one I authored myself. I'm afraid Gandalf didn't understand my love for a mortal woman or the deception that had enabled our marriage. Between Saruman of Many Colors and the Shadow of the Deceiver, I fear he was convinced, at least at the time, that I had simply abandoned the Task. And I think this same attitude also rules the mind of High King Elessar. But I will have to deal with that in due course. And in order to make sure that you understand the narrow escape, which this diminishment enabled; it was for lack of the Power of my Staff that I was immune to the wiles of the One Ring."

On a number of occasions, Merry and Pippin had traveled to Bree, spent the night, and then stopped at the house of Tom Bombadil on the way back to the Shire. But not since their fearsome flight through the Old Forest, being hunted by Ring Wraiths, had they made the journey out of the woods and eastwards across the Barrow Downs. They were all, Samwise included, forcefully reminded of that first, fateful adventure. But the sun was shining brightly in the mid-afternoon sky. And with Radagast in the lead, the dreadful Downs seemed not to be all that imposing. They soon found themselves of the Great East Road again, without incident.

Having eaten a late breakfast, they did not stop again for a meal until late afternoon. Pippin was not at all happy about having to wait, but Radagast promised to buy him a large dinner in town to help make up for it. They arrived at Bree just before nightfall. It felt quite strange to the three hobbits to be dining at the Prancing Pony again, although the innkeeper immediately recognized Merry and Pippin from their previous visits and treated them like valued, regular customers. Their familiarity with the owner allowed Radagast to make some inquiries regarding the availability of the form of transportation that he was hoping to purchase. As it turned out, the innkeeper also owned the stables, situated behind the main facility, and was able to economically fill the Wizard's order.

Knowing that it could be a very long while indeed before they would enjoy sleeping in beds again, the hobbits wisely chose to turn in early. Upon rising, they consumed a tremendous breakfast. It was a wide-eyed cook and his assistant who piled the orders before the anxious customers. And while the hobbits enjoyed a process to which they refer as filling up the corners, Radagast paid for their transportation and the additional supplies, which they would now be able to carry on their cart. As everyone was climbing aboard, he introduced them to their draft ponies, Barley and Sugarloaf. He laughingly said that, since their names so clearly referred to food, their original owners must have been hobbits. Pippin was particularly amused by this joke.

During their trip to the house of Tom Bombadil, the hobbits had stopped frequently. This had been done so that Pippin could use the Palantir to see if any of the other Keepers were available. At the time, they had been desperate to determine what was happening in Moria. Now that they had a cart, which facilitated such an arrangement, Radagast insisted that, as much as possible, Pippin stay in contact with the Palantir at all times. It was absolutely imperative that they give warning of the approaching menace, especially to the people of Gondor. Radagast also fully expected that Gimli would use his Seeing Stone as soon as he and his group were out of the mines and not fleeing directly before the danger. And the Wizard desperately needed to give the Dwarves counsel concerning their next course of action.

None of the hobbits had ever taken the road east out of Bree. Only their first journey had led in that direction. And Aragorn, trying to outmaneuver the Ring Wraiths, had led them through the wilderness. That had been an extremely arduous and desperate flight. And everyone, except for the Ring Bearer after he was injured on Weathertop, had been forced to accomplish it entirely on foot. Being whisked along the road in a drawn wagon made the members of that original Fellowship feel more like tourists on holiday instead of the pursued vagabonds they had felt like before. They knew their mission was equally desperate, but traveling over the open road as full-fledged emissaries of the kingdom made the experience altogether different. Only their driver seemed to be visibly anxious about the journey. It was as if they could actually see the face of Radagast aging before their eyes.

Having unsuccessfully attempted to cross the Misty Mountains once before, none of the hobbits were particularly thrilled at facing the prospect again. However, they were all very excited about Rivendell lying along their proposed route. The Elves had left Middle-earth many long years before. But High King Elessar and High Queen Arwen had sent a contingent of the King's Guard and their families to live in the abandoned village. They were charged with maintaining it and protecting it from any vandals. And even if none of them actually recognized Pippin, they would most certainly give due honor to the uniform that he wore; so, they knew their group would be treated as royal guests, literally. And getting to spend the night in the lingering magic of the place, even if the Elves had long since departed, was something to be highly anticipated.

They made such excellent time that by evening they had almost put Chetwood, on the left, behind them. They could just begin to descry the place where Midgewater began stretching out along the north side of the road. To their far right, they could also make out the distant South Downs, but just barely. Weathertop was still too far to the east to be seen. Radagast told them it was still at least a couple of days away, even as quickly as they were traveling. He added that, in the following mornings, they might see it as the rising sun silhouetted it. And each of the three secretly hoped to only see that location by sunlight anyway.

Radagast also told the hobbits that Gimli and his group should finally escape from Moria by the following morning. He was increasingly concerned by the fact that none of the other Keepers had consulted their Seeing Stones. It seemed unlikely to him that no one else had experienced any disturbing dreams, especially High King Elessar and High Queen Arwen. The fact that Pippin's Palantir had remained quiet all day was obviously distressing to him. He was clearly desperate to contact the fleeing Dwarves and advise them regarding their next immediate course of action. His unease should probably have been contagious. But despite having ridden in the cart all day, except for brief breaks, the hobbits surprisingly had no trouble going to sleep, nor did they have any disturbing dreams.

When they awoke, Pippin suggested an extended breakfast before taking again to the road. He said Gimli could use the Palantir at any minute, and it would be difficult for him to feed himself in the cart while trying to stay in contact with it. But Radagast insisted that they load up and eat their breakfast on the road. The fact that it was still early spring was made quite evident by the morning chill, and Pippin had also been hoping to start the day with a hot meal. Muttering his disappointment, he reluctantly climbed aboard.

Despite the how early in the year it was, the smell of Midgewater caused them to take only a short breakfast. Thoroughly disgusted at the development, and complaining about how cold it had turned, Pippin covered up with several blankets and consequently went back to sleep. The deep voice, suddenly issuing from within the coverings, startled him even more than it did the other occupants of the wagon. Reflexively pulling back the scarf, which he had used to wrap his hand to the Palantir, he saw the haggard face from which it had issued. So bedraggled in fact was the visage in the Seeing Stone that it took him a moment to recognize it as belonging to Gimli.


	2. Chapter 2

A Passage from Middle-earth

**Chapter Two: The Wise Steward**

The disheveled Dwarf Lord paused in consternation and confusion as the scene in the Seeing Stone suddenly shifted. Incredibly, it looked as if the Keeper was handing the Palantir to someone else. Gimli did not recognize the wizened face that abruptly filled his view. To him, the eyes of the man seemed incongruous in their setting, like gemstones intentionally set in a contrasting background. He was shot through by their intent gaze as surely as if his old friend Legolas, still abiding in Osgiliath with Elessar, had loosed two Elf arrows straight into his soul. And it strangely reminded him of how Gandalf used to sometimes make him feel.

"Where is the Balrog?" the unfamiliar form forcefully demanded.

So amazed was he at what had just happened moments before, the Dwarf Lord managed to take in stride the fact that the questioner apparently already knew about the Fire Demon, as he replied, "As unbelievable as I'm sure this sounds, a cloud of Great Eagles descended upon us just as we were leaving Moria. I thought we were all about to become bird food. But they swept right over us, attacking the Balrog instead. They kept trying to circle around behind it and tear at its wings. The monster was forced to retreat toward the mountains so it could keep the rocks close behind its back. It's now moving southward, right along the base of the mountain range."

"Do you still have Grond?" the interrogator insisted.

"If we didn't, this conversation wouldn't be happening!" Gimli said angrily, beginning to wonder how someone could seemingly know so much and yet have no grasp of the obvious. He then demanded, "Who are you? And how do you know what we found?"

"I am Radagast the Brown," the voice replied, softening. The harsh intensity of the man's visage also lessened somewhat as he continued, "I was an associate of Gandalf the Grey, who became Gandalf the White. I am on my way eastward with the hobbits right now. They asked me to help them with their Palantir. Using it, we saw you fleeing with Grond before the Balrog. If you'll accept my counsel, there are two things that urgently need to happen."

"If you were really a friend of Gandalf," said Gimli, pausing for effect, "you have but to name them."

The Dwarf Lord recognized the face of Samwise as the hobbit leaned over the Palantir and said, "He helped us when we passed through the Old Forest before with Frodo and the One Ring. In fact, after that he saved all four of us in the Barrow Downs, sending us safely on our way. And he even knew all about what Frodo was carrying."

"Very well, Radagast the Brown. I hereby formally recognize you as a Friend of the Fellowship," Gimli said with as much ceremony as his fatigue allowed to the figure that again filled the oracular orb, "What would you have us do, Wizard?"

"First, I need you to place your Palantir on the ground and step well away from it," Radagast replied. "I need to use it to communicate with the Great Eagles. After that, I need you to take both it and Grond southwards as fast as possible. I'm going to send one of the Eagles to Isengard. I'm hoping it will get the attention of Faramir or Eowyn and they'll understand that it's a signal to get them to look into their Palantir. When they do, we can tell them what's happening. I'm told by the hobbits that you and Faramir were both given special horns with which to signal Treebeard. With you coming from the north and the Steward coming from the south, one should hopefully get to him in time."

"In time for what?" asked Gimli intently.

"In time for you to get him to the north side of Fangorn and arm him with Grond," answered the Wizard. "He may be able to use it to hold back the Balrog. But we haven't been able to reach High King Elessar to tell him what's happening. The Steward must find a way to get a message to Gondor. The Eagle will have to return to help keep the enemy grounded. And it's a very long journey from Isengard to Minas Tirith, even by horseback. But some kind of warning must be given. Gondor and Rohan must act together to delay the Balrog's approach while the hobbits and I acquire the necessary materials to construct the means of his defeat."

"Keep the enemy grounded? Delay his approach?" Gimli echoed in confusion. "Why is it so important to keep the Balrog on the ground? Where is he trying to go? What's he trying to do?"

"He's trying to get to Mordor," Radagast replied heavily. "He intends to remake the One Ring."

Gimli immediately sat the Seeing Stone on the ground and backed away. But it was as much to keep Radagast and the hobbits from seeing the horror written on his face as it was to comply with the Wizard's request.

The Dwarf Lord had faced the fierce weapons of ten thousand enemies at Helm's Deep and not flinched. He had marched against the Black Gate of Mordor, which had opened to reveal the Eye of Sauron himself, and had not quailed. But the shriek that unexpectedly issued from within the Palantir actually brought him to his knees with his gloved hands instinctively and abruptly placed over his ears.

He elected to stay in that position as he observed the Great Eagle that quickly wheeled and descended in response to the auditory assault. It landed, almost without a sound, directly next to the Palantir. Gimli watched in rapt fascination as it communicated with the Wizard, cocking its enormous head to the side as it chirped and squeaked. At the end of the discourse, it mounted into the heavens and disappeared quickly to the south.

Gimli rushed to retrieve the Palantir, inquiring, as he scooped it up, "You say you're headed eastward? Where are you bound?"

"We're still a couple of days west of Weathertop," Radagast replied. "We're headed towards the High Pass beyond Rivendell. Our plan is to come down the River Anduin. We need to retrieve all of the Rings over which the One had mastery. We are going to use them to make the Weapon that can destroy its wielder. So, the hobbits are going with me to Mordor so they can retrieve the other Rings from the pits into which they fell."

"That's a bold plan," said the Dwarf Lord carefully so as not to alarm the Halflings. "And it may be that your route is the fastest. But be warned; Mirkwood has become a dangerous place. Many of the evil things that left Mordor after Sauron was destroyed fled directly northward. The ruins of Dol Guldur, his old stronghold, are not that far from the Anduin. And my people no longer maintain a presence in those woods. The way may not be as open as you think. Use your Palantir. Be vigilant. I'll not be pleased with you at all if any of my friends should come to harm while under your guidance, Friend of the Fellowship."

It was with a curiously whimsical smile that the person in the Palantir replied, "The reports I've heard about you, both of your wisdom and your devotion to the Fellowship, are apparently not exaggerations. This pleases me greatly. You may count on me, Lord Gimli. May I also count upon you?"

"Aye, Wizard," Gimli huffed. "That you may."

As contact was broken, the shapes in the Palantir faded into darkness. It was an unsettling image. So many things had changed in the last few days, during which there had been no time at all to rest, that Gimli was having trouble absorbing it all. His people had loosed yet another Balrog in Moria. The threat of the One Ring had been renewed. There was still a Wizard in Middle-earth. And hobbits were once again going into Mordor in a desperate attempt to save the world. It made his tired mind ache to consider such things.

He understood however the wisdom of the counsel he had been given. Gimli had once met the Shepherd of the Forest at Isengard. And if there was a creature in all of Middle-earth, besides the Balrog, that could wield Grond, it was definitely Treebeard or one of the other Ents. The mere possibility of witnessing such a clash of the titans made the Dwarf Lord's pulse quicken, restoring some of his strength. He turned to his waiting band and shared the contents of his communication with Radagast; then, and with their fearsome burden still in tow, they followed the Great Eagle southward, albeit moving far more slowly.

The Great Eagle swept above the rolling, green expanse of Fangorn Forest. Sailing across the wood-scented winds, it flew forcefully and fearlessly forward. Its eyesight, sharper than that of any Elf, pierced the enshrouding canopy of tree limbs below, taking careful note of the many scurrying creatures upon which it could not pause to dine. Like the projectile view of the Palantir under the controlling power of Radagast, it shot across the shimmering sky like a streak of feathered fury.

The sun had long since crossed its zenith and the late afternoon light was quickly wearing away as it finally espied the proud pinnacle of Isengard yet in the barely discernable distance. It gathered still more speed as it began the long descent towards its target. It flew a spiral course all the way up and down the tower before alighting on its top, pausing between pants to screech.

Tottering in its fatigue on the edge of its lofty perch, it anxiously watched for any sign that its arrival had drawn the intended attention of the tower's occupants. As it continued to call, it looked longingly towards the River Isen where it hoped to soon slake its thirst and fill its empty belly with fish. A movement on a balcony, near the center of the tower's skyward stretch, caught the Eagle's attention. It launched into a controlled dive, pulling up just in time to hand on the balcony's railing.

The two people, who had stepped out onto the landing to investigate the ruckus, instinctively backed away from the arriving avian apparition. But one of them was the Steward, Faramir, and he knew the Great Eagles to have been allies of King Elessar in the War of the Ring And his wife, Eowyn, did not retreat far either. Cautioning her to remain in place, by putting a hand on her shoulder, he carefully stepped away and moved towards the peculiar, ponderous presence.

Understanding that its intentions were unknown, the Great Eagle was careful not to alarm its welcoming committee. It waited until Faramir had drawn quiet close. Then it slowly leaned toward him, placing its massive face just in front of his. It turned its head to the side, placing them nearly eyeball-to-eyeball. And then it blinked several times, very deliberately. Faramir's reaction reminded the Great Eagle of how a member of its own kind might have responded as the Steward frowned and cocked his head to the side in confusion. But as it continued to show Faramir its great far-seeing eye, the winged emissary gratefully watched the comprehension dawn in the mind of the Steward.

"The Palantir!" yelled Faramir, voicing his insight. "I think it wants us to look in the Palantir!"

The Great Eagle loudly screeched its agreement, abruptly turning and launching itself into a power dive in the direction of the waiting river. The couple paused long enough to watch it depart. It had been more than a month of summers since the Winged Guardians of Gondor had brought Frodo and Samwise to the infirmary in Minas Tirith where he and Eowyn were also being treated. At the time, he had thought it to be just a dream. But the real dream had been waking to full recovery, learning that Sauron had been destroyed, finding that a High King sat again on the Throne of Gondor, and walking straight into the arms of the love of his life, Eowyn.

At the time, he believed his days as a Steward were ended. But King Elessar had soon offered him a different commission. He strongly suspected that the royal couple had observed the blossoming of the romance between the Steward and the Lady of Rohan and that it had figured into their decision. And after he had served as Prince of Ithilien and Lord of Emyn Arnen, they asked him, as a Steward of Gondor, to become the caretaker of Isengard, also known by the Elves as Orthanc. Since the Numenoreans originally built it, it was actually a possession of the High King of Gondor even though it lay conveniently in the land of Rohan. Some time after Aragorn ascended to the throne and formally adopted his Elven designation as the title by which he would rule; King Eomer finally asked High King Elessar what would become of it, indicating that he wished no responsibility for cleaning up the mess of Saruman. As the new King of Rohan, he said, he had to look to the future of his people.

King Eomer also wanted nothing to do with a Seeing Stone since he knew one had been instrumental in the Wizard's downfall. But the royal couple had made it clear that they wanted to use Isengard as a watching post over the Gap of Rohan since it was located much further west than the capital city of Edoras. And a Palantir was really the only way to fully utilize such an advantageous position. One had been discovered in the White Tower, indicating the possible source of Denethor's madness. And the High King quickly found that Faramir was anxious to redeem his family's honor, even to the point of facing his own father's bane. The opportunity was graciously extended and gratefully accepted. Except for brief trips to Gondor, such as for the wedding of their son, he and Eowyn had remained at Orthanc with an assigned contingent of the King's Guard.

The High King and Queen had three children. The first of these was a son. And they named him Telperion Eldarion, after the eldest of the Two Trees of Valinor. The others were daughters, one of whom died in childhood. The survivor was Laurelin Hirilin. She married Faramir and Eowyn's eldest son, Thengel. This name had belonged most recently to Eowyn's grandfather. But it was a Westron version of an older name. The first Thingol was a mighty Elf King who ruled over the Hidden Realm and was wed to one of the Maiar. It seemed more than chance to Eowyn that a son so named had taken a wife of mixed Dunedain and Elven descent.

Gondor had reclaimed Minas Morgul, restoring it to its original ancient designation of Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon. Prince Telperion had occupied its throne while High King Elessar reigned from Minas Tirith until Thengel was installed as its Steward after his marriage to High Princess Laurelin Hirilin, whose last name meant Lady of Song. The High Prince had wanted to be free to rebuild Osgiliath, the Fortress of the Stars, once the chief city of ancient Gondor. And because of their Seeing Stone, the Stewards of Isengard knew that the High Prince had recently completed this auspicious objective.

The eldest son of Faramir and Eowyn, now the husband of the daughter of the High King himself, was actually already serving as the Steward of Minas Ithil. It was a glorious legacy. They had two other children, both were now grown and living in Edoras. Their second child had been a daughter: Calenardhon, an ancient name for the realm of Rohan. She was now engaged to wed the son of Prince Imrahil, Prince Ithmirel. Their third and youngest was another son. His name was Eorl. He reportedly spent most of his time in the company of King Eomer's son, Prince Elfwine. It was commonly known that Prince Elfwine had a nearly insatiable appetite for the lore of other cultures and spent much of his time with the Dwarves at the Glittering Caves of Aglarond behind Helm's Deep.

Faramir could scarcely believe how richly blessed were the lives that he and his family enjoyed. He still remembered riding, at his father's insane insistence, into what should easily have been certain death. It was like he had awakened from a nightmare and into some kind of fairy tale. It was at his great peril that he had chosen to release the Ring Bearer. His unwavering devotion had then carried him back out onto the battlefield, fully expecting to die. And his unforeseen reward had been a long and very happy life.

As one person, Faramir and Eowyn turned and left the balcony. Despite having successfully interpreted the message, neither one of them could even begin to guess at just who might have dispatched such an emissary. The only person Faramir could even think of whom he had known to possess such ability was Mithrandir, also called Gandalf. And that Wizard had taken a ship into the West many decades ago. It was therefore with understandable trepidation that they entered the room where the Palantir was kept.

They soon found themselves enmeshed in a conference call. Faramir remembered his father making a reference to Radagast the Brown, one of the Wizards who were part of the White Council. The Steward was not aware however of any of that order having remained in Middle-earth. When he heard that a second Balrog had been released in Moria and what the Fire Demon intended to do, he was glad that some remnant of the Powers of the West was still present to contend with it. But the challenge, with which he was presented, seemed almost insurmountable.

Radagast was quite insistent that news of this threat be relayed to Gondor with all possible speed, and Faramir was nearer to the realm of the High King igh Hthan anyone else. The Steward questioned why one of the Great Eagles could not be used to accomplish the task, and the Wizard explained the manner in which they were otherwise employed. Despite the enormous distance involved, Radagast soundly charged him with the task. He also urged Faramir to take whatever contingent of the King's Guard was not used in relaying the message and ride northwestward around Fangorn Forest.

Neither Faramir nor Eowyn had ever heard of the dreadful ancient weapon to which Radagast made reference, although it was assuredly heartening to know that such a fell instrument, one to which even the Balrog was not impervious, still actually existed. They were familiar however with the series of trumpet blasts that had been worked out for signaling Treebeard. But Fangorn Forest was immense. And they would have to ride slowly, giving the Tree-herder time in which to respond to the signal; yet, they needed to arrive at the north end of the huge woodlands ahead of the Fire Demon. Faramir was uncertain which of the errands that were being entrusted to him was actually the more impossible. But Radagast was as difficult to dissuade as had been his predecessor, and there clearly was no one else to whom he could allocate such needful assignments.

As the images in the Palantir faded, Faramir turned to his wife. He could see the deep concern written in the expression on her face. He pursed his lips and sighed in anticipation of her query.

"How in the world are we going to do this?" Eowyn asked. "If only Elessar or Arwen would look in their Palantir; we wouldn't have to figure out how to get word to Gondor."

"We would still need to get word to Eomer," he observed. "The Rohirrim may not be able to seriously injure the Balrog with arrows and spears, but they might be able to give us the time we need. If they ride hard directly northward, they might reach the north side of Fangorn before us."

"Yes," she agreed, reconsidering. "Even if the High King knew what was happening and lit the Beacons, my brother would misunderstand. He would think Gondor was in danger, and he would ride the wrong way."

"The Beacons," mused Faramir out loud as he met her gaze. "They were actually created to warn the people of Gondor, and to even carry word of need form Gondor to Rohan. But why couldn't they work in reverse? If the Watchers saw that the Beacons to the west of them were being lit, they would almost surely follow suit. And when they see that the Beacon of Amon Din above Minas Tirith is lit, the royal couple will have to look in their Seeing Stone to find out why!"

"But that means the errand of the messenger doesn't even end at Edoras," Eowyn objected. "For such a bold plan to be set in motion, word must be carried much further east, all the way to the Watchers on Halifirien."

"That is precisely what it means," Faramir carefully agreed. "But the plan could work, and it's the quickest way by far to send a signal to Gondor."

"And just who would you send, my lord?" she asked suspiciously, her sarcasm indicating that she already knew the answer.

"I would of course have no choice but to send the fastest horse and rider under my command," he said cautiously.

Eowyn inclined her head as she said accusingly, "You are doing this just to send me out of danger."

"I will not deny that I embrace the benefit," he replied, trying hard to suppress a smile. "But surely you agree. It's the most prudent course of action."

"Going into such danger without your shield maiden at your side could hardly be referred to as prudent, my liege," she said with icy disapproval.

"We must all make sacrifices in such times of dire need, my dear," he responded, barely able to contain his amusement at their repartee.

She snorted and flashed her eyes at him as if she were about to attack before laughing out loud and then smiling. But the deep concern quickly returned as she nestled up against him and quietly asked, "Then I should depart with all possible haste?"

"I wish it were otherwise, my lady," he said as he kissed her softly. "I certainly do. But at the very least, we should make sure you are properly equipped."

The sword, with which she dealt the killing blow to the Lord of the Ring Wraiths, had suffered damage in the process. But unlike the other blade, which Merry had wielded, it had not disintegrated altogether. It was weakened however almost as if a lightning bolt had passed through it. As their wedding present to Faramir and Eowyn, Gimli and the Dwarves had forged the blade anew, reinforcing it with Mithril. It was now deemed both unbreakable and as close in power to any other sword in all of Middle-earth, Elven or otherwise, that only the Flame of the West, the sword of the High King of Gondor, was considered superior.

Faramir had left the christening to Eowyn. She called it Gurthang, Iron of Death, a name that she also took from history. Originally, the name of that ancient sword was Anglachel. It had been made from meteoric iron and given to Thingol, Elf King of the Hidden Realm, by the Dark Elf, Eol. It was forged anew after Thingol gave it to Beleg and renamed Gurthang. Only one other sword was ever forged from that source, and both were said to be able to cleave any earth-delved iron.

Faramir insisted that Eowyn take both Gurthang and the Palantir. He reasoned that, once he had joined the Dwarves, he would then be able to use Gimli's Seeing Stone to contact her. They would in fact be able to keep constantly updated on each other's progress in this way. He would be able to keep her advised of the situation with the Balrog, and she would be able to inform him when she reached both Edoras and Halifirien. She said that he would probably have more need of the sword; but he pointed out that even such a blade, if wielded by a mere mortal, would not be of much use against such an enemy. He wondered out loud if the Weapon, which Radagast was proposing to fashion, would actually be that much more formidable.

After helping to pack provisions for her trip, he escorted her down to the stables at the base of the tower. He took the opportunity to explain to a number of soldiers, who happened to be on hand, what had transpired. Each expressed encouragement for his plan. Arabel was easily the fastest horse in the stable and, with the light frame of her owner on her back, no other horse and rider could run either faster or farther. Quickly saddling and bridling the spirited mare, Eowyn lithely leapt upon her back. Faramir helped to secure the items that she was taking along. She leaned over, gave him a prolonged goodbye kiss and, with a gentle kick, sent Arabel galloping out of the corral.

Long ago, the Steward had decided that the Fords of Isen were simply located too far to the south. Since he had the manpower, and many of the King's Guard serving under him were expert builders, they had constructed a new crossing much closer to Isengard. Saruman's army had taken a very similar course in its march towards Helm's Deep, although at that time the mighty River Isen had been dammed up and they had marched across a dry riverbed. The evidence of their fateful passage across the plains had remained for many years until the vigorous growths, which thrived in the realm of the Horse Lords, finally reclaimed the disturbed earth. It had looked almost like the damage path of a tornado. The inhabitants of Rohan had called it the Trail of Tears.

Saruman's army however had not been responsible for all of the evident passage. Part of the trail led all the way up and into the denseness of Fangorn Forest. It was something she had elected never to actually ask Eomer about. But she had overheard whispers between some of the survivors of the battle at Helm's Deep. And she was not the only one. The women of Rohan had finally forbidden the telling of the terrifying tale to their children, and so it had been squelched. If there was really truth to it, even she preferred not to know. The survivors referred to the makers of those additional marks as the Wandering Woods. To her, it was more than unsettling enough to know that such incredible creatures as Treebeard and the Ents actually existed without also implying animation to an already frightening forest that lay just at the edge of their realm. Such a secret, if it were true, was one that she would rather just let her brother simply keep to himself.

Eowyn carefully marked the terrain over which she was passing as she initially selected the same route southeastward. They were now overgrown with plant life; but the fretting furrows, which had been tragically trodden into the face of her beloved homeland, were still visible to her observant eyes. It seemed curious to her that her desperate mission now took her along the same path that the servants of Saruman had once used, although their agendas were so very different. They had been coming to destroy the world of men, beginning with the inhabitants of Rohan. And she was racing to save them. She was glad when it was finally expeditious to angle eastward and abandon that lamented lane.

The evening sun was swiftly sinking into the west as they raced across the Westfold. The nearly horizontal rays caught the white socks of her charging chestnut steed, causing flecks of light to swirl on the ground around the rushing form. Had one of the Great Eagles been in the sky overhead, it might easily have thought that some mighty Elf Queen had returned out of the West and was galloping into the gathering darkness. As she sat high up on the horse's withers, Eowyn matched her breathing to the cadence of the muscles that surged beneath her. She enjoyed the play of the mane about her face as she leaned forward and became invisible to the wind. A few moments later, the twilight rendered them indiscernible.

As the leagues swept swiftly by, she carefully reined in Arabel. It was essential that she not tire herself too quickly, even though the youthful mare was surefooted enough to gallop at almost full speed through total, starless darkness. The sprawling plains were altogether accommodating to their equine inhabitants. But it was rumored that this ability had originally been imparted to the horses of Rohan by either the Elves or perhaps even the mysterious Mearas, of whom Gandalf's mount, Shadowfax, had been the chieftain.

It was further rumored, by both the occupants of Edoras and Dunharrow, that the great white stallion could sometimes still be seen cantering along the River Snowbourne under the light of a full moon. Even her own brother, Eomer, said that he had seen the Spectral Stallion, despite the decades that had elapsed since the Lord of all Horses had carried the White Rider into combat. And the way Arabel was running, Eowyn could only wonder if her mare had perhaps caught the stray scent of Shadowfax drifting out of the darkness. Eomer, whose gift she had been, claimed that Shadowfax was Arabel's sire.

As the rays of the morning sun first began to creep over the horizon in the east, she slowed Arabel to a fast trot. In order to better survey her surroundings, and from force of habit since she had been an equestrian all her life, Eowyn posted the mare's unusually smooth gait, bobbing up and down as she looked all around. She was passing through the middle of the rolling expanse comprising the Gap of Rohan, a spectacle to behold in the early morning light. It was remarkably easy to imagine lines of travelers of many different races passing through the yawning, mountain-rimmed corridor and stretching back to the dawn of time itself.

Tossing her flowing blonde hair out of the way, she looked back over her right shoulder. She could not actually see Helm's Deep across the extreme, mist-enshrouded distance. But she could just make out the peaks beneath which it was situated. Already, it had passed to the southwest of her position. Returning her gaze to the direction of their desperate dash, she found that she could also see the tops of the mountains that lay just beyond Edoras. She could only hope she would find her brother occupying his throne in the golden hall of Meduseld and not off gallivanting about the countryside. If she had to search him out, it would greatly delay the final leg of her journey to Halifirien.

Knowing that they would not sleep long under the swiftly rising springtime sun, she elected to give both horse and rider a brief rest. There was a possibility that she would encounter a patrol, especially the closer she got to the capital city of Rohan. King Eomer would often send someone out to check on the Steward and Lady of Isengard after the snows began to melt. So far that year, no delegation had come to call. They were certain to come by approximately the same path. And they would easily espy Arabel over a distance even if the mare were resting. Whether they would be able to aid her in any real way, even if she did encounter such embassy, was doubtful. But it could not hurt to have an escort. She and her mount stretched out upon the newly growing grass and softly slumbered. Although thrown headlong into such an urgent errand, her dreams passed as lightly as did the gentle breeze.

Around noon, they were underway again. Nothing moved in the vast landscape that rushed around them. Only an occasional bird punctuated their passage, sweeping soundlessly overhead. Aside from that and the circuit of the sun, the rest of the world seemed frozen in time. It was as if winter, which had long since disappeared from the fertile fields, was refusing to relinquish its final paralyzing hold on the inhabitants themselves. She wished that such an immobilizing spell would fall on the Balrog whom, she was certain, was not being so accommodatingly inactive. Loosening the reins and giving Arabel her head, they resumed their relentless race across the rolling realm of Rohan.

In late afternoon, they stopped and rested again, consuming meager quantities of both food and water. Eowyn wanted to make sure they kept up their strength without Arabel possibly being slowed by a bellyful of barley broth. Her plan was for them to eat their fill and slake the long day's thirst when they finally rested for the night.

She had made the trip from Isengard to the capital city of Rohan on many occasions, and the journey back as well. But to the best of her knowledge, no one had ever tried to see just how quickly that formidable distance could actually be crossed. The previous passages had all been unhurried affairs that had taken nearly a week to complete. She hoped to arrive at Edoras in less than half that time. But unless she intended to change mounts, which she preferred not to do, she had to make certain that Arabel still had the strength to carry her on to Halifirien. And that would be another journey of almost identical distance.

After riding deep into the twilight, Eowyn finally elected to stop for the night. As she lay in her bedroll, trying to go to sleep, her mind was racing with estimates of distance and speed. She had never been to the north side of Fangorn Forest. Her understanding was that the distance between Moria and that mighty woodland was about the same as that between Isengard and Edoras. The Balrog was moving on foot and was being made to hug the crags between the mountain roots in order to avoid having the Great Eagles rip its wings to shreds. On horseback, she reasoned, she should be able to move at least two or three times faster than even something that large.

What she was uncertain of was whether the Balrog would have to stop and rest as did she and Arabel. She needed to reach Edoras in time for Eomer and the Rohirrim to arrive at the north side of Fangorn ahead of the Fire Demon. And she believed the distance to be in excess of that between either Isengard and Edoras or Edoras and Halifirien. If her calculations were correct, she thought, there was really no chance of that happening unless she somehow were to increase her rate of passage; so, when she awoke just after midnight and found that the clouds had retreated and the way was illuminated by a waxing quarter moon, she roused Arabel and sent them on their way again.

After the moon set, they navigated by starlight like the Elves of Middle-earth had done prior to the placement of the sun and moon back in an earlier age before the Two Trees of Valinor were slain by the Great Enemy, Morgoth, and his Maia accomplice, Ungoliant. But as the morning sun crept over the horizon, blinding both horse and rider, she finally stayed their journey, resting again until just after noon. After breaking fast with yet another meager meal, they were quickly on their way again.

With only a few short breaks, they traveled all day. But Eowyn was careful to slow Arabel to a fast walk for several prolonged periods to keep her from wearing out. With her heart for running and an intuitive sense of her rider's urgency, Eowyn knew that the mare would push herself until muscle cramps or exhaustion brought her down. But the snowcapped mountain peaks above and behind Edoras grew steadily closer. Once again, they ran deeply into the night.

The monotony of their mission was beginning to tell on both horse and rider, causing them to sleep until just before dawn. Had it been colder, they might have had difficulty getting started. But Rohan was much further to the south than was the Shire and they were moving constantly to the southeast, so it was steadily becoming warmer as they progressed. Eowyn optimistically hoped to actually reach Edoras by nightfall. And she carefully measured the strength of her mount as the miles slipped swiftly by.

As the sunset's last light was languishing in the west, they noisily splashed across the River Snowbourne and came within sight of her ancestral home. She could see the frantic gestures of the lookouts as they were silhouetted against the watch fires. And she knew they had spotted her.

The city's gates obediently opened as Arabel lowered her head and resolutely raced across the last few furlongs. A gathering crowd of well-wishers welcomed them both as she and Arabel crossed into the confines of the fenced compound. The expressions on the faces of the onlookers quickly changed from joy to apprehension however as they got close enough for the firelight to reveal the exhausted condition of the unexpected embassy.

Eowyn gave instructions for Arabel to be taken to the stable and then she turned and ran up the long hill. Seeing the obvious urgency of her errand, many of the guards accompanied her; so, by the time she reached the stone steps which led up into the Golden Hall of Meduseld, she had already determined that Eomer was at home in the royal residence. Unceremoniously shoving the huge wooden doors aside, she breathlessly burst into her brother's puzzled presence. He stood as he recognized the fatigued form of his sister.

"A Balrog has escaped from Moria!" Eowyn gasped as she nearly fell before the concerned countenance of Eomer. "You must take the Rohirrim and ride with all possible speed to the north side of Fangorn Forest. Faramir and the King's Guard are already headed there. They are trying to find Treebeard. The Dwarves are bringing an ancient weapon, which they hope he will be able to use against the Fire Demon. As soon as Arabel and I have rested, we must continue on to the Beacon of Halifirien. Faramir is hoping we can use the Beacons to get the High King to look into his Palantir, so he can be told what's happening. But you must depart immediately!"

Eomer's brow furrowed as confusion compounded his concern and he asked, "How do you know what direction this Balrog will take? What if it turns aside? Why would it be headed towards Fangorn?"

Eowyn paused and took several gulps of air before replying, "There is yet a Wizard dwelling in Middle-earth. He is Radagast the Brown, one of Gandalf's order. He and our hobbit friends are headed eastward for the High Pass above Rivendell. He has seen the mind of this enemy. They are trying to get to Mordor first, to retrieve the lost Rings of Men and use them to make a weapon. He is using the Great Eagles to keep the Balrog from taking to the air. But we must do everything within our power to help slow it down. You must ride northward now!"

"Trying to get to Mordor first?" Eomer echoed, looking as if he had just seen a ghost. "Why in the world would it be going to the Black Land?"

Eowyn paused as her voice unexpectedly caught in her throat. She looked as if she were on the verge of tears as she finally answered, "It is capable of entering the fiery chasm within Mount Doom and remaking the One Ring."

Eomer suddenly reminded her of their uncle, the late King Theoden, as his fear was replaced with resolve and he abruptly leapt to his feet. He cried out to the Guards of the Golden Hall, saying, "Summon the Rohirrim! Sound the alarm! We ride northward within the hour! Open the armory; we will need all the spears and arrows we can carry!"

As uniformed figures rushed to respond to his urgent orders, Eomer approached his sister. Her shoulders slouched as she understood that the first part of her task had now been accomplished. He took her by the hand and steadied her as he gently implored her to take some rest.

"We ride to the aid of your husband, the Steward," he said with quiet intensity. "We will give you the time you need. Your errand to the High King can wait until the morning. You must recover from your journey. But I would further advise you to wait at Halifirien and come northward with the army of Gondor. If the Balrog breaks through, it would be most unwise to meet it in the open on a wearied mount."

"I will do as you ask, my brother" she replied with a tired voice. "I also bear the Seeing Stone of the Steward. Once he meets up with Gimli's group, he'll be able to use their Palantir to keep in touch with me. And I cannot risk allowing such a tool to fall into the hands of the enemy. Don't be concerned. I'm no longer the reckless young woman who disguised herself as a Rider of Rohan and defied the crown to own a place on the battlefield. I'm wiser than to expect such foolishness to work to my advantage again."

"Your wisdom has never been in question, my sister," Eomer replied with a gentle half-smile, thoroughly surprising her. "Neither has that of the Steward, who has clearly sent his fastest horse and rider on this errand and reasoned out the only way that we might quickly send a message to Gondor."

"I only hope the wisdom of the Steward and of this Wizard can really to turn back this dark tide," Eowyn replied. "And I will stay the night here. In fact, Arabel has already been stabled. But I will see you and the Rohirrim on your way before I retire. I may have just enough breath left to sound your charge."

"We ride forth at your request," he appropriately responded. "The honor of sounding our advance belongs to you."

She watched as the soldiers suited up and equipped themselves with as much armament as they could speedily carry. She attached Eomer's armor herself, fastidiously strapping each piece in place. The squire, for whom she stood in, took no offense but happily yielded his place to her. Her skills as a shield maiden were well known, as were her prowess on the battlefield, although many decades had elapsed since she bested the Lord of the Ring Wraiths. At the last moment, she unfastened Eomer's sword and exchanged it for Gurthang.

"I would further advise you not to get close enough to use this," she laughed, gently mocking him. When it seemed clear that he was about to refuse the gift, she continued, "Just the sight of it may give the Fire Demon pause if its senses can somehow identify this weapon's history. It's not the Flame of the West. But if things go ill and you find yourself in the place of Isildur, this blade may serve you just as well."

"This was a wedding gift to you and the Steward," Eomer carefully observed. "It would not be proper for me to keep it, but I thank you for the loan of such a powerful heirloom. And I shall look forward to returning it."

Eowyn quickly hugged and then released him. And Eomer's wife, Queen Lothiriel, took her place. She was the daughter of Prince Imrahil, ruler of Belfalas. His castle, Dol Amroth, lay by the sea.

"I too will look forward to the time of that returning," she assured him, "as will our children."

Eomer hugged her, being careful not to bruise her with his armor. Then he turned and strode purposefully out of the Golden Hall. The Rohirrim surged all around him. Their weapons glinted in the firelight, bristling like the metallic stingers of some multi-segmented creature. The two women hoped that their enemy would be effectively stung by every one of them.

The night had turned just cold enough that the excited exhalations of the horses produced clouds of vapor. The torchlight made them look red, as if the mounts were actually breathing fire. It was clear that they could sense what was happening and were as anxious as their riders to be on their way. Parade-stepping his steed to stand at her side, Eomer's squire handed her a horn. She sounded the charge, continuing to blow repeatedly until the entire group had all cleared the gate and she finally ran out of breath. As the bobbing torchlight and the thunder of the hooves slowly dwindled into the distance, she retired to her childhood home.

Queen Lothiriel led Eowyn to one of the large guest rooms. One of her two nieces now occupied the bedroom that once had belonged to her. Eomer's son and heir to the throne of Rohan, Elfwine, had taken the room where Theodred had finally succumbed to his Orc-inflicted wounds. She was escorted to what had once been a study back in the days when she lived at Meduseld. Shelves of loosely bound books still adorned the walls. Since Eomer had been using the room earlier that evening, there was still a fire in the hearth. Of the many rooms in the palace, this one still felt the most like home to Eowyn. Queen Lothiriel turned back the bed and wished her guest goodnight.

Eowyn passed the night peacefully. If there were any imagery to her dreams, she could not recall. Whether it was due to the days and nights spent upon the rushing form of Arabel or just her knowledge of the groups of riders now headed north, her sleep seemed filled with the noise of horse hooves. It was a sound she had known since childhood. And it was reassuring, rather than disturbing. To her, it signified either pleasure or progress. She awoke refreshed.

She had thought to see her nephew and nieces before she left. But seeing that she needed the rest, Lothiriel had allowed her to sleep late into the morning. Given the developments of the previous evening, there were many errands to be accomplished. Everyone else had departed to perform various needful duties long before she came down for breakfast. Lothiriel relayed her children's well wishes and said that everyone hoped to see her after the terrible business was over.

At the conclusion of breakfast, Eowyn took the time to visit her favorite bathtub in the world. It felt like more than the few days, which is all it had really been, since she had enjoyed hot water. After that, Queen Lothiriel provided her with changes of riding clothes and a pack of fresh provisions and then walked with her down to the stables. Many of the townsfolk came up to greet them as the two royal women leisurely made their way.

Arabel actually appeared frisky. Eowyn was uncertain if the mare mistakenly was anxious to head home or if she somehow understood that their journey was really only about half over. But she gladly accepted the saddle and bridle and seemed not the least bit surprised when her rider reined her eastward, instead of northwestward, upon passing through the city gate. People were cheering as the pair galloped out onto the Great North-South Road and headed into the Eastfold.

Being the kingdom's major highway, the thoroughfare was not entirely without traffic. Travel was not heavy enough to cause any concern, and it was nice to see an occasional countryman as she rushed along the well-worn way. But as the road angled southward, she elected to abandon it and proceed across the Eastfold proper, directly toward the Firien Wood below Halifirien. Arabel obviously agreed with the decision, accelerating appreciably as they veered off the stony way and swept across the sprawling grasslands to the south of the River Snowbourne.

Queen Lothiriel had offered to send one or two of the remaining esquires with her. But Eowyn had correctly surmised that they would only slow her down. Arabel was running as if the several days, which she had spent crossing the Westfold, had merely conditioned her. Eowyn knew it had to be an illusion, but she thought her mare might actually be trying to outrace the wind that was blowing over the grasses.

It was still far too early in the spring for the various types of ground cover to have grown up enough to hinder visibility, so the immediate terrain and the general lay of the land were both very easily discernible. She knew that her mount had been both birthed and raised in this part of their country, and it showed in the way Arabel navigated over the familiar ground. As difficult as it was to believe, Eowyn thought they were actually traveling faster now than they had during any part of the previous leg of their journey. But she knew better than to take a chance on her zealous mare possibly winding herself. Around mid-afternoon, she gave them both a rest.

She had been too tired the night before to attempt passing along a progress report. And she also knew that many of the people of Rohan, including Eomer's family, were uneasy around the Seeing Stones; so, she had thought it better not to produce the one in her keeping anyway. But now that the opportunity presented itself, she thought it might be heartening to let whoever might be available know that the Rohirrim had ridden northward the previous evening.

She had seen neither Gimli nor any of the hobbits since wedding the Steward. Their familiar faces were quite reassuring, although she noted that the Halflings seemed to have aged hardly at all. Gimli's visage was wizened, but whether it was from time or merely fatigue she could not tell.

"My lady!" she heard Merry exclaim as he excitedly looked over Pippin's right shoulder and into the Seeing Stone.

"Greetings Esquire!" she replied, smiling broadly. "I bring you good news from the Mark. The Rohirrim rode northward late last night. They may in fact be able to overtake the Steward's group before they reach the north side of Fangorn Forest. They have spears and arrows aplenty, and I have also armed Eomer with Gurthang."

"The sound of your voice is pleasant news enough," said Merry, "but these other tidings are also welcome indeed."

"The Sword of Rohan may give that Fire Demon something to think about," interjected Gimli. "And it looks like the Great Eagles are doing a good job of slowing it down. Every once in a while we can see one or two of them circling in the sky to our northwest. Apparently, they're keeping it from moving south as quickly as we are. It looks like we'll easily reach Fangorn Forest first, if only we can find Treebeard and get this weapon into his hands in time."

Over the hobbit's shoulder, Eowyn could see the back of the large man who was driving their cart, but he continued to face down the road ahead as she asked, "Has there been any contact with the High King?"

"Nay, my lady," Merry took the opportunity to respond. "He and Legolas are the only remaining members of the Fellowship who aren't involved in this conflict yet."

"I left Edoras around noon and I'm hoping to reach the Beacon of Halifirien by nightfall, the day after tomorrow," Eowyn volunteered. "If Faramir's idea works, the Army of Gondor should be headed northwestward the following day."

"The Sword of Rohan may just get his attention, and Grond may even make an impression," Gimli observed. "But I've seen this monster, and I'm not sure even an army is going to make the least bit of difference."

"Take heart, Master Dwarf," Eowyn replied, still trying to get a rise from the driver of the cart. "We have only been charged with slowing the enemy down. Someone else has authored a plan for stopping it. We need only do our part. And we should remember that the Fellowship vanquished a far more fearsome foe than this!"

"That's true," Samwise involuntarily agreed aloud from his position to the left side of Pippin.

"Indeed it is, Ring Bearer!" she laughingly replied. "And it is pleasant to hear your voice too! But I must get underway now. I will look forward to speaking with you all again soon. Perhaps my husband will even be part of that conversation."

"I'll be looking for him," Gimli replied, "and your brother, too. Farewell for now, my lady."

"Good day, my friends," she said softly.

The hobbits each said goodbye to her in turn, and then the Palantir darkened. So much was riding on the plan of Radagast; she had been hoping that her good news would earn some mutual reassurance. But the Wizard had elected not to enter into the conversation. Since the elements of his plan seemed beyond her understanding anyway, she chose not to be disheartened by his lack of encouragement. The ways of Wizards were well known to often surpass the comprehension of kings. She had to simply trust that this Power from the West would come through for them even as Gandalf had done. But she seemed to remember the Grey Pilgrim being far more talkative, so she hoped this Wizard's silence was not due to a lack of faith in his own abilities.

Getting back underway, a seemingly perpetual prairie passed promptly beneath her surging steed. Arabel appeared to virtually fly over a sea of short-bladed grass. The terrain behind was so similar to the vistas opening before her; the only real indication of how rapidly they were changing location was the view of the mountains to her south. But as the afternoon turned to evening, there was an even more telling development. The wind, which Arabel had been trying to outrun, shifted. No longer did it come out of the west, pushing them along their way. It turned to come out of the north. Not only did this help to cool the sweating mare, but it also revealed something about their position.

A sound began to be evident as it was swept along that breeze. It took awhile for Eowyn to notice it over the thunder of Arabel's hooves. And even after she did, it took several more minutes for her to correctly identify what she was hearing. It was the noise erupting from the place where the River Snowbourne joined the River Entwash. And since it was already well after suppertime, she elected to stop again and enjoy the distant cacophony while she and her mount slaked their thirst.

With the wind coming out of the north, the evening quickly cooled. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, the fact that it was still early spring was easily evidenced by the bite of the air. The cold was unseasonable for the Eastfold. Rather than risk Arabel's health by letting the mare get chilled after running all day, Eowyn slowed her and walked her until the sweat had nearly all evaporated. After that, they stopped and made camp for the night. She was grateful that Queen Lothiriel had thought to equip her with a small amount of kindling. She fell asleep listening to the crackle of the fire.

The next day passed by like a green blur. Every time she stopped she consulted the Seeing Stone. She still held out hope that one of the royal couple would chance to look into their Palantir, and her journey would be foreshortened. But each time she was disappointed to learn that there had still been no contact with Gondor and the urgency of her mission remained unabated.

It just felt wrong to be rushing away from the coming conflict. Nor would she feel obligated to wait for the Army of Gondor at Halifirien if she discovered it was already coming northward before she even reached that destination. In such a case, Eomer would simply have to understand. But as she made camp the second night, knowing she was only about one more day's ride from her intended goal, she disappointedly realized there was no chance that she would be released from her obligation.

The morning of the third day warmed quickly. And she was very glad about the change in the weather. The Beacon was situated on the top of a mountain. And there was certain to be a drastic temperature change with the extreme elevation. Since the last few nights had been cold, and she did not expect to arrive at the mountain's base until evening, she had been dreading the freezing climb at the end of what was sure to be another very long day.

Around noon, she began to see what looked like a shadow in the extreme distance ahead. A little while later, she realized that it was the Firien Wood. Angling southward, she headed towards a perceptible gap where she knew that the Great North-South Road passed through it. When lit, the Beacon could be seen all the way from Dunharrow and Edoras. She was delighted to realize that she was already close enough to actually distinguish the place on the mountain where it was situated.

Returning to the road, Arabel hardly slowed at all. It seemed that the mare somehow sensed Eowyn's anticipation. Consequently, they covered a considerable distance during the afternoon. It was just evening when they crossed the Mering Stream. Eowyn invisibly instructed Arabel to leave the road again, angling southeastward towards the base of Halifirien. They came to the foot of the mountain before sunset. A well-wrought road, used for maintenance and provisions, wound up to the Beacon. Arabel quickly climbed the course as if she had not already been running all day.

Eowyn was not unfamiliar to the Watchers, who greeted her as both the Lady of Rohan and a Steward of Gondor. They were openly aghast at the tale she told but completely compliant with her request. In fact, after pouring on the oil to aid ignition, they passed the torch and allowed her to set the blaze. With the accelerant, the wind quickly whipped her fire into an inferno.

She stepped back, warming herself before the furiously flickering flames and gazing intently into the east. She knew that the Beacon of Calenhad was nearer in elevation to that of Amon Din than any other. So it was critical for the Watchers at the next outpost to respond to her signal. If they did not, she would have to undertake a decidedly more difficult journey. And she questioned Arabel's ability to attack that altitude without a considerable amount of recuperation beforehand. But after anxiously observing those precipitous peaks for several very uneasy minutes, she was thankfully relieved by the response.

In her haste to complete her journey by the end of the day, she had not been consulting the Palantir. Knowing that a response from the High King could now be only a few minutes away, she hurriedly unpacked it. She was even more elated by the picture it produced than she had been by the response of the Watchers down the way. Faramir was smiling as he noticed the Beacon fire blazing behind her.

"Calenhad has responded already," she said excitedly. "It won't be long now. And where are you?"

"We crossed the River Limlight this morning," he replied, grinning. "We intercepted Gimli and his group just as Eomer and the Rohirrim overtook us earlier this evening. Apparently, Treebeard was able to tell from the changing positions of our horn blasts that we were traveling north around Fangorn Forest. He met us at the river. He already has Grond. And I also approve of your loan to Eomer. It doesn't look like we're going to be able to stop for the night though. Gimli says that the Great Eagles have been changing position rapidly the last few days. And although they're really hard to see at this distance, I'm afraid the Balrog is already dangerously close to the forest. If we are going to head him off, we must journey westward immediately. Fortunately, I don't think our friend, Treebeard, is as worn out as the rest of us. We've been riding hard. And so, I would think, have you!"

"Arabel and I could both use a rest," she agreed. "It's hard to believe that, after all that riding, we're still only just at the edge of Rohan. But we'll lodge with the Watchers tonight. And I'm sure Eomer already told you that he's suggested I stay here and wait to come north with the Armies of Gondor. That seems like a prudent plan, unless you have different ideas."

"I didn't like sending you alone to begin with," Faramir admitted. "I'd prefer for you to have an escort with which to return. There's no way you could get back here in time for the initial skirmish anyway. And since we have the Seeing Stones, I'll be able to relay events as they unfold without you having to be endangered by them. If we actually do engage the Balrog during the night, there should be a very interesting report for you in the morning. I'm sure it'll have to be nothing short of spectacular to see the Ents go up against this monster. Treebeard is not alone. He is the only one with an ancient weapon to aid him. But these things are like walking catapults! If we can reach the base of the mountains ahead of it, I'm sure there'll be lots of big rocks for them to throw. It should be the kind of battle of which songs are made!"

"Just make sure you're still around to sing them with me!" Eowyn insisted, cocking a brow as the tilting of her head sent her strawberry-blonde hair spilling over one shoulder.

"We're only supposed to try and slow this monster down," Faramir laughingly replied, smiling at her banter. "We're really just backing up the Ents anyway. I'm not expecting any loss of life."

"Alright," she said with mock disbelief. "I hope you know I'm going to hold you to that."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Three: The Good Shepherd**

Because the two groups of men, which were led by Faramir and Eomer, had been in such a hurry to ride northward, no one had thought to bring along extra mounts for the Dwarves. Bearing them as a burden would have slowed the riders too much; they were now desperate to cross the north side of Fangorn Forest as quickly as possible. The Ents could easily carry one or two Dwarf passengers without their progress being appreciably impeded, but they were uneasy about the axes with which the Dwarves came equipped. In order to make sure the worrisome weapons remained at rest, the Ents insisted on actually carrying the Dwarves rather than allowing them to simply climb aboard and ride along. This was somewhat demeaning to the potential passengers who had no choice but to agree. For Gimli however it did greatly simplify the use of the Palantir.

Long ago, the Elves of Lothlorien gave Aragorn the name of Elessar, the Elfstone. After he had been crowned as High King of Gondor, he officially adopted that title. And thus did all the inhabitants of his realm know him. But many of those who had previously been his companions, before that regal ascension, continued to call him Aragorn out of habit. He chose to regard it as a term of endearment and elected not to correct them. He thought it wise to occasionally recall his humble beginnings and the times of desperation and sacrifice that had preceded his rise to the position of the most powerful king in all of Middle-earth.

Even though the Dwarves slowed them hardly at all, the Ents were simply unable to keep up with the riders. Nor were Faramir or Eomer about to have the men slow their horses. If they failed to intercept the Balrog before it entered the woods, the ensuing forest fire would effectively curtail any chance of engaging it again until after it had emerged many miles to the south. It was crucial that they hold the monster back until the Ents could arrive.

Whether or not the Shepherds of the Forest would really be able to repel the Fire Demon, or even turn it aside, was a complete unknown. Even the Wizard had seemed tentative about the possibility. And while forcing it to turn east might save the woodland, unless it gave the defenders some kind of tactical advantage, it still would constitute only a marginal victory. What they really needed to do was to drive it westward up into the Misty Mountains and then keep it there until Radagast could arrive with the appropriate armament.

The Ents would tolerate no fire. Nor did they apparently need any other illumination besides starlight by which to navigate. As the riders galloped gallantly ahead, Gimli gazed with envy at the bobbing torchlight disappearing into the distance. But the swiftly surrounding darkness made the soft light, which suddenly swelled within his Seeing Stone, that much more quickly noticeable. He could not help but smile, despite the circumstances, at the familiar face that it framed. It had been barely half an hour since the conversation with Eowyn. But there within the Palantir, once known to him merely as a Ranger of the North, was Elessar, the High King of Gondor.

"Greetings, Lord Gimli!" Elessar exclaimed. "I perceive that you are not in Moria. It looks like starlight in the background, but it moves very strangely."

"My stomach moves strangely as well!" Gimli assured him. "Being carried along by an Ent is a most unsettling experience!"

"Carried by an Ent?" echoed Elessar with deep concern. It was obvious that the High King's insight had been brought to bear as he concluded, "You had to signal Treebeard. That's why the Beacons were lit. Something has happened. What?"

When he noticed that Radagast had joined them, Gimli simply said, "I'll let him explain it."

"I greet you in the name of the Valar, High King Elessar," Radagast began formally. "I bring news of a great evil that has been loosed upon Middle-earth, and counsel regarding its possible remedy."

"And just what remedy would you counsel for those who practice abandonment, you Brown Wizard?" Elessar inquired heavily. "Will you not abandon us as you did the White Council, as you've obviously forsaken the last ship into the West? Or do you perhaps intend to sail with Legolas, somehow knowing that he is even now in Ithilien selecting the timbers?"

"It was for love of Goldberry that I requested my removal from the White Council," Radagast replied. "It was for duplicitous reasons that Saruman approved my request. I'd no way of knowing that."

"Not that it would have mattered, I imagine," Elessar accused, unabated. "But at no point did I allow my love for Arwen to compromise my dedication to the War of the Ring, even when I thought it prudent to encourage her, according to the counsel of Elrond, to escape into the West with the remnant of her people. I thought I was loosing her forever, and as a direct consequence of my commitment. Your love for Goldberry should have empowered you, not misdirected you!"

The reply of Radagast gathered force like a storm cloud, alarming those who were observing the exchange through the Palantir as he said, "As one of the Dunedain, you know something of the passions of the Eldar. Your own wife, Queen Arwen, gave up immortality because of her love for you, being of yet mixed linage herself. Luthien gave up her immortality not to live with but to die with Beren. It was purely a gift of the Valar that they got to enjoy any time together at all, and not something she had ever even anticipated. Melian was a Maia, as am I. For love of Thingol, she left Valinor and came to Middle-earth as the wife of an Elf and not one of the Powers. She was given leave to do so, as I also believed that I had. But I was deceived, and so my marriage was not blessed with children. If she had been so deceived, you would not even be here, Ranger! You judge that which you do not understand! And it is at the great peril of your certain destruction that you reject my counsel! Be ye warned!"

"Perhaps you do have the stomach for a fight after all, Wizard," answered Elessar with a wry smile. "Say on."

Gimli was relieved that the two seemed to have reached a point where they could speak to each other with some semblance of civility. To him, they were the two most powerful people in all of Middle-earth, and he had no idea how they would be able to defeat the Balrog if they could not cooperate. He was also thankful that the Wizard took it upon himself to reveal the part Gimli and the Dwarves had played. He was surprised by the ire of the High King and he definitely did not want to see it directed his way.

"Nargurth, the lieutenant of Gothmog, unfortunately was not slain during the assault of the Valar against Angband as we had hoped," Radagast finally began to explain. "He was apparently trapped in one of the furthest dungeons, very near the tunnels of Moria. The Dwarves were trying to find a way to open a new door in the west side of the Misty Mountains when they broke through into that chamber. It was there that they found Grond, with which they've already armed Treebeard."

"How do you know all this?" asked Elessar suspiciously. "Did Gimli already tell you?"

"The Ring Bearer saw most of these things in a dream," Radagast replied. "He then came to me with Merry and Pippin and their Palantir. The four of us are now headed for Rivendell and the High Pass beyond. Our plan is to come down the Anduin. Our intent is to recover the rest of the Nine Rings of Men from the land of Mordor before Nargurth can get there. I'll need them to make the Weapon with which to defeat him. I saw his mind though the Palantir. He plans to remake the One Ring. I am using the Great Eagles to keep him from taking to the air. But in order to intercept him, the King's Guard and the Rohirrim are now riding west across the north end of Fangorn."

"So your intent is to simply delay him until you and the hobbits can complete your mission?" asked Elessar pointedly.

"Yes," answered the Wizard. "But even if Treebeard is able to effectively wield Grond against him, Nargurth will probably just turn aside and seek another way. Faramir and Eomer do not have the manpower to deter this demon. You must ride northward with the Armies of Gondor as quickly as possible."

"Anduril, the Flame of the West, may yet be used to slay one of Morgoth's minions," Elessar observed in a strangely far-away-sounding voice.

Gimli could see the troubled expression on the face of Radagast in response to the abruptly fey mood of the High King as the Wizard replied, "Mighty you may yet be, even after these many years, King Elessar. But I do not counsel you to put yourself so directly in harm's way. I ask only that you delay Nargurth. Even the mighty Ecthelion perished in the slaying of Gothmog."

"And yet Gothmog was slain," Elessar persisted. "Many may have perished because of your decision to abandon the White Council. And many more may have been slain because I released the Shadow Host too soon and didn't use them to march against the Black Gate. But I will not place my dear friends in danger rather than take the risk myself. Mordor is yet a perilous place."

"I will guarantee their safety," said Radagast firmly.

"Gandalf the Gray couldn't even guarantee the safe passage of the Fellowship through Moria, and Mordor is far more hazardous," argued Elessar.

"And yet they did pass safely through," stated Radagast, contradicting him according to the same tactic the High King himself had used only moments before. "And so shall your friends. The time for you to pass beyond the Walls of the World has not yet come, Elfstone. It is folly for you to rush to meet it. Accept my counsel. Let me take the risk. But do not underestimate the powers of this Fire Demon. For you may suffer the fate of Ecthelion and yet not earn his victory. Let your army be your sword."

"Your actions are not yet proof of your wisdom, Wizard," Elessar countered. "But I'm not rash enough to dismiss one of the Maiar out of hand. I sense some of the spirit of Gandalf in you and none of the deception of Saruman. Indeed, I heard Gandalf speak highly of you even after Lord Elrond had relieved you of your Staff, despite dissuading the Council from attempting to involve you any further since you had so altered your persona. And I understand why your road must now lead through Rivendell; so until I see a failure in your council, I will do as you request. But know this: I have learned from the treachery of Saruman. And I also remember that the Balrogs are themselves of the Maiar, just as even Morgoth was one of the Valar. I'll not trust you blindly. But I will trust you for now."

"I would not ask you to do more, High King Elessar," Radagast replied softly. "And I look forward to earning that which you now freely give. May the Grace of the Valar be upon you and the Light of Earendil illuminate your path."

"And yours as well, Radagast the Brown," Elessar answered.

The face of Radagast faded from the Seeing Stone in Gimli's hands. It was replaced by the concerned countenance of Lady Eowyn. Not wishing to become embroiled in the embittered exchange between the High King and the Wizard, she had elected to do nothing but listen. But she needed to discuss her next course of action with Elessar, so she had no choice but to make her presence known. And although he seemed to have calmed somewhat towards the end of his discussion with Radagast, she still felt as if something were brewing just below the regent's surface. And she hoped the fact that she had once loved him would temper his treatment of her. At the very least, he should appreciate that her willingness to undertake the urgent errand to Halifirien had placed her in her current situation.

"My lord, Aragorn," she hesitantly said. Then, catching herself in the use of that ancient title, she rephrased her salutation, saying, "High King Elessar, it is Eowyn. I'm at Halifirien. I've been advised to travel north with the Army of Gondor, your majesty. What would you have me do?"

"Lady Eowyn," he said gently. His entire demeanor seemed to soften as he smilingly replied, "Your willingness to undertake desperate errands may have provided a critical blow to an enemy once again. And there is also great wisdom in taking you back northward with an escort. My army will not pass very close to your position. The road doesn't lead in the required direction. We'll turn northwestward just above the Druadan Forest and pass through Anorien. The best place to cross the Entwash is as it separates into its fingers and reaches out to the River Anduin. From there, we'll proceed on up through East Emnet and into the Wold. If you ride northeastward in the morning, you should have no trouble intercepting us. And I'll have the scouts keep an eye open for you."

"You have my deepest appreciation, my lord," she gratefully replied.

"Nay, my Lady of Rohan and Steward of Gondor, it is you who have mine," Elessar earnestly answered. He then turned his attention to Gimli, continuing, "I'll be bringing my Seeing Stone with me. I'm expecting you or Faramir to keep me updated as the conflict allows."

"Aye, that I will," Gimli gruffly responded. He then was unable to resist a temptation to inject some levity in the conversation as he concluded, "And I know that springtime in your country is a beautiful thing, but don't dawdle along the way looking at all the flowers; not when you've got my handsome face to look forward to seeing!"

"Right," Elessar agreed, biting his lip.

The faces then faded from the Seeing Stone in Gimli's hands. The Ent, which had elected to bear the Dwarf Lord as its burden, looked kindly upon its worried charge but said nothing. Long ago, the Ents had decided that the words of Wizards and Kings were usually troublesome things, to be entertained only at great hazard and answered as seldom as possible. They had learned to be as silent as the trees over which they had charge. Having overheard the heated portion of the exchange, the Ent was forcefully reminded of the wisdom of the ancient ways of its own kind.

Fortunately, Gimli repacked the Palantir. It had been days since the Dwarves had even rested. The repetitive, swaying motion soon lulled him to sleep. His dreams were a mesh of overlapping images all framed by a Seeing Stone. People from his past and his present seemed to somehow coexist, confabulating within its curious confines. Gandalf, Radagast, Elrond, Galadriel, and even Legolas hobnobbed as if the world were not in danger of burning like a Balrog. The Ring Bearers walked along a shore of sand so white that the light of it nearly blinded his dreaming eyes. And one of his favorite people in the world, the Lady Eowyn, stood arrayed in a wedding gown, but it was not in the hall where her marriage to Faramir had taken place. None of it made any sense at all. And he was glad when the Ent awakened him suddenly.

It was the wee hours of the morning. Darkness hugged the base of the Misty Mountains as if it were an ocean that had been cast against a swiftly rising shore. But a stark interruption became evident in that shoreline's distance where a towering firestorm moved in the night. Its illumination made the other forms around it visible. Shapes descended out of the starlit sky above, seeming to issue forth from the vastness of space itself as they challenged their fiery foe. Mounted horsemen could briefly be glimpsed as they wheeled and rushed back and forth before the incandescence. Their spears and arrows ignited in midair as they streaked, shimmering, towards the undeterred target. And the flash and crack of the Fire Demon's whip could be both seen and heard, as could the glint and swish of the Balrog's blazing blade.

The Men of the West had engaged Nargurth and were trying to keep him from crossing the remaining strip of land that separated the forest. The Ents were taking up positions in between.

Placing Gimli gingerly on the ground, the Ent turned to him and spoke for the very first time, saying, "It must not be allowed to enter Fangorn."

The Dwarf Lord could just discern the mounds of boulders, which the Ents were erecting. He understood that these constituted ammunition. And since the line of such defensive positions was growing eastwards from the base of the mountains, and he was standing along its projected path, he elected to move northwards from that line of skirmish, taking himself closer to the battle. Other Dwarves gathered around him as they saw him moving in the starlit darkness. The faint glow of morning was just beginning to suggest itself in the eastern sky, so there was just enough light for them to organize themselves for combat.

Gimli was uncertain however of how his group could best aid the conflict. Even though they had been able to stay ahead of the Balrog while racing across Khazad Dum, outrunning it on the flat might be an entirely different matter. And they needed to be sure they stayed out of the way of the horsemen and the Ents. Most of his warriors were quite proficient at throwing their axes. But it would be necessary to cover their retreats. And if they used all their weapons as projectiles, they would soon be unarmed. Nor could he coordinate the movements of his troops with the other two commanders since they were already engaged and on horseback.

As best he could, he surveyed their situation. He was forced to come to a conclusion that he knew would be no more popular with his troops than it was with him. To position his foot soldiers north of the line, which the Ents were defending, would make them a liability. The Shepherds of the Trees would eventually begin to launch their barrage. And their lack of maneuverability would cause the Dwarves to be endangered by that assault. They would possibly be an impediment to the horsemen as well, so the only solution was to take up positions behind the Ents. This would appear cowardly, as he was certain that his kin would point out, but it would also make them the last line of defense. That was the redeeming characteristic of such a tactic. For to such a calling he was also sure that his group would very willingly arise.

As much to save face as to prepare for the coming conflict, the Dwarves arrayed themselves in battle formation, falling back to form a defensive line behind the Ents. After scanning the dimly lit darkness for several long minutes, Gimli finally found Treebeard behind the largest and most centrally located stack of stones. The Ent appeared to be hiding. And in truth, as he explained to Gimli, he was. The plan was for the other Ents to fall back to that last mound, leading the Balrog to him. He feared that the reach of the Fire Demon's whip might exceed that of the dreaded war hammer with which he was armed, so he was relying on the element of surprise to ensure that he would strike the first blow. By so doing, he hoped to disarm his opponent.

It suddenly occurred to Gimli that this incredible creature, which had possibly seen more centuries than the Dwarf Lord had decades, was facing what could well be the end of its extremely long life. It was like fighting alongside Elves again. And as he stood there against the backside of the rocky mound, unable to see the approaching enemy's fire because of the fortifications, he was forcefully reminded of the Battle at Helm's Deep.

Gimli stepped around the interposing barrier and was alarmed to see that, despite the best efforts of the King's Guard and the Rohirrim, the advance of the Fire Demon was as unrelenting as had been that of the Uruk-hai. Already, the horsemen were splitting into separate formations, opening a lane through which the Ents could begin to launch their aerial assault. And in response, the Ents were selecting some of the smaller, lighter boulders for their first throws. Because the air was already full of spears and arrows, the Great Eagles had broken off their attack. This allowed the Balrog to venture away from the foothills where the ground forces could more easily engage it. And it also ensured that the coming barrage would not possibly endanger the Lords of the Sky.

The first rays of the morning sun were just touching the tops of the Misty Mountains as the Ents released their first volley. Watching the projectiles arch through the air, Gimli held his breath.

Some of the slung stones totally missed the target, bounced harmlessly with audible thuds, and rolled to rest in the prairie beyond. A few slammed directly into the Fire Demon, sending forth showers of sparks in the early morning mist. Nargurth screamed, whether in pain or outrage, but somehow managed to remain on his flaming feet. The horsemen quickly raced to close the lane, releasing a volley of their own, as the Ents wound up for their next throws.

Looking down the field, the Balrog caught sight of the strangely moving trees and the smaller figures that were also there, just beyond the rock piles. Gimli hoped it was just his imagination, but he was almost certain that the creature's gaze had focused and remained fixed on him for several seconds. He wondered in horror if it was possible that, despite the distance, it actually recognized the leader of the group that had opened its lair and stolen its trophy. It was quite terrifying to think that some kind of personal vendetta might exist in the monster's mind.

As the horsemen swept to the sides, clearing the path to the target once again, the Ents sent forth another salvo. Nargurth was very aware of what was happening. He sprang suddenly to one side and turned sideways, presenting the smallest amount of target area possible. Raising both of his hands to the side of his head, he bowed down and prepared for the impacts. Fewer projectiles found their mark this time. But the collisions were extremely audible, and more showers of sparks erupted from the battered form.

Switching the whip and sword into the same hand, Nargurth suddenly scooped up one of the stones that had fallen closest to him. There was apparently some type of flammable mineral deposit in the vein from which the rock had been removed. It abruptly burst into flame in his conflagrating grasp just before he lobbed it back at the Ents. And the Dwarves soon found it necessary to go on fire patrol, pursuing the pyrogenic parcel into the woodlands behind them and smothering it with their cloaks. No one had anticipated the Fire Demon throwing the boulders back, let alone being able to ignite them beforehand. This was an extremely disturbing development.

Nargurth also seemed to unfortunately understand that as he diminished his range from the defensive line the Ents would be able to use the bigger boulders against him. Consequently, he abandoned his tactic of trying to outmaneuver the horsemen and catch one. He charged the line instead, trying to cross the remaining distance as quickly as possible, minimizing the number of the injurious impacts that he might have to endure.

This possibility had been anticipated. The riders completely withdrew from around the target, and the Ents began to fire at will. So persistently pummeled was Nargurth, as a direct result, that his forward progress was temporarily brought to a halt. As the bigger boulders became the main weapons of the Ents, Gimli began to wonder if it might actually be possible to kill the Balrog in this way. The flaming form was decisively driven to the ground before the aerial avalanche. And it was clear that the huddled hulk was in severe pain.

The Ents however did not have an infinite supply of ammunition. And they were carefully avoiding the use of the pile behind which Treebeard was hiding. They were counting on the Fire Demon's anger; because, once they had to finally interrupt their attack, the Balrog would be able to simply rush by them and into the forest. They wanted him to come after them instead as they retreated toward Treebeard's position. The idea was to make it look as if, at the last moment, they realized that it was not going to be possible to make another stand and therefore chose to abandon that pile. As the Balrog tried to come around it in pursuit, he would finally, and they hoped even fatally, discover what had happened to Grond.

As he watched the immobilized, incandescent enemy writhing before the unabated assault, Gimli experienced, what seemed to him, a very odd emotion. He pitied the Balrog. King Elessar had said that it was a Maia, one of the Maiar, not unlike Gandalf and the Wizards. At some point, it had allied itself with the Dark Power and had then become trapped in the fortress of the Great Enemy when the Powers of the West at last were entreated to come to the aid of Middle-earth.

However, he thought, some decisions have lifelong consequences. After having been freed, there was no recourse for the Fire Demon but to pursue its deadly plan. Even if such had been its intention, the inhabitants of Middle-earth could never have lived in peace with it. Only by gaining mastery over them could it even continue to exist. Having been discovered in its ancient prison, it would have been pursued out of fear into the depths of the earth until it was either destroyed or it overcame the pursuit.

It could not have stayed in Khazad Dum, not anymore than it could now be allowed to return there. His people would never be able to suffer the knowledge of its presence. It would have to be unmistakably and permanently imprisoned before they would feel it was safe to live there. Having once made that fateful decision uncounted ages ago, Nargurth's only choices were to either take a chance that would result in either his dominion or his ultimate destruction or face imprisonment until the very end of the world. Unlike the many other evil things Gimli's axe had helped to send into eternity, the fate of the Balrog had been irreparably sealed long ago. Even stouthearted as was the Dwarf Lord, he could not help but be touched by the sadness of such an inescapable fate.

The showers of sparks, which resulted from the many impacts, had set the grasses around the crumpled form on fire. Smoke was obscuring the target, making it increasingly difficult for the Ents to take aim. Through the billowing haze, Gimli detected a movement. The Balrog had rolled to the side, igniting the incandescent material in some of the rocks around it, making its position very hard to determine. Not all of the blazing boulders behind the smokescreen were a part of its fallen form.

Nargurth suddenly stood. He had placed his weapons between his feet, snatching up one of the larger stones, instead. Using it, he began to deflect the incoming boulders being thrown by the Ents. Since the Shepherds of the Trees were firing at will, rather than according to a pattern, there were occasional interruptions in their barrage. The Balrog took advantage of this, dropping his stone shield and returning fire as opportunity allowed. And he was a distressingly good shot. His technique involved turning suddenly towards his unsuspecting target while he was actually throwing. Several of the Ents were struck in this way. And since some of the projectiles were also ablaze, even the misses constituted a significant danger to the woodlands beyond. The Dwarves quickly found themselves in the position of having to extinguish multiple fires.

But the slugfest could not be sustained indefinitely. And that was a good thing for the Ents, who were beginning to suffer some serious injuries. Their piles of ammunition were very quickly diminishing. Soon, all that was left was the large centrally located stack at the line's southernmost extent. The Ents began to retreat towards it. Seeing this development, the Balrog snatched up its weapons with one hand and ignited a large stone in the other, rushing to intercept them. Although hurt, it was much faster than they had anticipated.

The Ents had failed to consider the possibility of any of their number being injured. And they were spread out too far. The Balrog immediately headed toward the most disabled of the fleeing forms. The first Ent that reached the large pile attempted to make ballistic intercession on behalf of its hindered comrade. But Nargurth had been waiting to use his own projectile on the first Ent to rearm. And the Fire Demon's throw was both faster and more precise. The Ent tried to use its stone as a shield, as the Balrog had done. But the range was too short and the shield rebounded into it, splintering its wood. Nargurth reached the injured Ent before anyone else could respond.

Being seriously smaller than an opponent has never deterred a Dwarf, the most dangerous diminutives ever to walk the earth. A glowering Gimli gazed upon the massacre of the Ent as it was literally hacked to bits before his appalled eyes. Brandishing his axe, he recklessly changed towards the malevolent mountain of fire as it sat astride its helpless victim. The Dwarf Lord would most certainly have been killed in the next few moments, but an irresistible force flung him aside as it swept by. Raising his eyes, he saw Treebeard strike the Balrog with the full force of Grond.

The ability to root himself to the spot gave Treebeard an unusual advantage in wielding the ancient weapon, assisting his normal inertia. He could swing the war hammer much harder than any creature of approximately the same size; although, aside from either a Balrog or another Ent, only an exceptionally large Cave Troll could have possessed such stature. And the Fire Demon was completely unprepared for the blow. As the Shepherd of the Forest completed his homerun swing at the enemy's undefended back, the effect was as spectacular as it was, for the Balrog, catastrophic.

Nargurth was literally knocked into the air. Since he was struck from directly behind, and his sword had been in front of him, it was propelled along with him. His blade stuck in the smoldering earth beside his fallen form. His whip, wrenched out of his hand by the sudden impact, wrapped around him. As a result, neither weapon was lost, as Treebeard had hoped, because of that initial strike. But Nargurth was hurt, of that there was no doubt.

Too late, Gimli's gloved hands reached protectively for his ears in an instinctive response to the deafening crack. He could feel its reverberations in his chest. As he shook his head, trying to recover from the shockwave's impact and regain his auditory ability, he noticed that he could hear a most peculiar sound. It seemed to be issuing from the crumpled form of the Fire Demon towards which Treebeard was very purposefully striding. If a furnace could wheeze, thought Gimli, that is what it might sound like. And he had spent most of his life around one kind of furnace or another. He also observed that it was now smoke, instead of flame, erupting from the fearsome figure. It looked as if the Balrog's fire had all but been extinguished, something the warrior Ent obviously intended to accomplish.

Rolling suddenly to the side at the last possible instant and somehow grabbing his sword in the process, the Balrog barely avoided Treebeard's potentially lethal, overhand blow. Despite the distance, having just regained his feet, Gimli was knocked to the ground again. The tremor rattled the leaves of the trees behind him and swept deep into the forest. Hurriedly standing, Gimli saw a huge depression where the Fire Demon had been lying. The impact stamped out the smoldering grasses where it had first fallen. But it did not arise in attack; it arose in retreat.

Not unexpectedly, the Fire Demon attempted to flee directly eastward since its ultimate goal was to the southeast and its passage south and been blocked. The horsemen rushed to intercept it. But so desperate was the plight of Nargurth that he charged against their spears and arrows, although it seemed that, in his weakened state, he was now more susceptible to injury from such weaponry. The Balrog swatted furiously at the stinging projectiles, which were no longer igniting on impact.

He was not however beyond the range of the Ents. And he quickly saw that the only way to avoid more of the merciless meteoric maelstrom was to keep Treebeard in the line of fire, which meant retreating back to the north. Anticipating that the Balrog would try again to turn eastward as soon as he was far enough away from them, the Ents scooped up as many of the stones as they could carry, from that last pile, and began to pursue. Most of the walking catapults angled towards the Field of Celebrant, to help funnel Nargurth's northward retreat. But some of them followed closely after Treebeard in case the Shepherd of the Forest got into trouble and needed help.

Gimli believed that he could see uncertainty written in fiery lines on the face of the retreating form. Once before, during the confrontation at the Bridge of Khazad Dum, when Gandalf had faced the first Balrog in Moria, he had observed such a doubtful demeanor in one of the dreaded Fire Demons. Glancing back over its shoulders, to avoid stumbling over the many boulders that now dotted the prairie, the Balrog withdrew.

As Treebeard continued his relentless pursuit, Nargurth desperately snapped his whip at the approaching Ent. But he did not try to make a stand. It was obvious that, even if he somehow avoided Grond and could overcome its wielder, being pummeled to death by the other Ents would probably be his reward. Many of the stones from the wild throws and deflections littered the area through which they were passing. At the very least, he would have to wait until there was no longer additional ammunition lying close at hand for the Ents to use against him.

The Dwarf Lord produced the Palantir; anxious to inform anyone available of the advantage they had achieved. Eowyn was apprehensively awaiting any update.

"My lady," said the Dwarf Lord, bowing before the extended artifact, although the movement was mostly lost on the recipient.

"Master Gimli!" she exclaimed as she beheld his beaming countenance in the Seeing Stone. "How goes the battle?"

"We lost one of the Ents," he replied, suddenly recalling that the respite had not been without cost. "But the Balrog is no match for Treebeard and his army. It's retreating northward even now."

"And what about the Steward and my brother?" she pressed.

"They ride well," answered Gimli, shrugging. "As for their marksmanship, who can tell when the target seems made of stone?"

"No!" laughed Eowyn out loud, tickled by his flippancy. "I was wondering if they're alright!"

"Aye, my lady," Gimli replied with a wink. "That they are. And I mean to keep them that way for you, too."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you're on top of things," she said, smiling slyly.

"No short jokes, please," Gimli chuckled. "It's too early in the morning. And speaking of that, where are you?"

"I'm preparing to leave Halifirien," she replied. "I'm riding northeastward to rendezvous with the army of Gondor."

"Have you spoken with Aragorn this morning?" he inquired.

Before she could answer, the image of High King Elessar appeared in the Palantir, asking, "So, the war in the Wold goes well?"

"That's easy for you to say!" a grinning Gimli agreed. "But the enemy's retreat may be short-lived. That beastie is sure to make a stand just as soon as we run low on things to shoot or throw at it."

"I fear it will take me nearly a week to reach you, even riding hard," Elessar replied, "especially if you continue to drive it northward. But I'm only asking you to slow it down. I want no more loss of life, Entish or otherwise. Understood?"

"Of course," the Dwarf Lord said smilingly. "But you've no idea how much trouble I'm having controlling all my troops!"

"Your troops?" Elessar laughingly exclaimed.

"Yes," said Gimli with feigned severity. "These Ents and those horsemen seem to have their own ideas about how to wage this campaign. But I'll do my best to rein them in for you."

Elessar had to fight hard to keep a straight face as he replied. "I have complete confidence in your abilities, Master Dwarf."

"After our long association together," Gimli stoically concluded, "I should certainly think so."

Those antics, which had become associated with their long affiliation, often amused Elessar. But he had a long, hard journey ahead of him. And it would precede what he suspected of being an appointment with destiny, a chance to truly vanquish an evil of the kind that his ancestor Isildur had failed to finally defeat. It was a desperate chance to outmaneuver one of the Istari and prove that the descendants of Numenor no longer needed the protection of the Powers of the West, so he was relieved to finally bring the comical part of the conversation to an end as he turned to Eowyn.

"We shall be fully mustered within the hour," he informed her. "The Tower Guards have been sounding the assembly since dawn. Then the Armies of Minas Tirith, Minas Ithil, and Osgiliath will march immediately northward. You should start out. If you'd like, I could instruct the Watchers on Halifirien to accompany you. But I've seen you on Arabel; I know they could never keep up. And nothing will trouble you within the borders of my country anyway, as if anything but the wind could even catch you."

"Thank you, my Lord Elessar," she replied with her gentle smile, hiding her growing concern for his increasingly strange mood. "We will start out now for the fingers of the Entwash. But I have learned on this journey that Arabel outruns even the wind."

"I doubt it not, my Lady of Rohan," he replied with a chuckle, momentarily sounding more like his old self. "I look forward to our meeting. The scouts will be watching for you."

"Aragorn," she said hesitantly, several moments after his image had faded from the Palantir. When he failed to respond, she said, "Gimli, I'm very concerned about him. I didn't understand it when he blew up at Radagast. And his attitude of late is not a thing I comprehend. Strange as it may sound to say, I'm not even sure his odd behavior began with the unleashing of this Balrog. I think it goes much further back, but to where I cannot say. And I've noticed other inconsistencies. As the wife of the Steward, I've now studied the lore of Gondor extensively. I've discovered that Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon, was the original name of what later became Minas Morgul. Aragorn restored its designation after it had been reclaimed for Gondor, having already taken the Elven name of Elessar for himself. But Minas Tirith was also once called Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun. That name he did not restore. It's almost as if there are some things that he struggles to recall and others he struggles to forget. I fear that he is driven by some desperation we have yet to understand. And it worries me."

"Aye, the High King is an odd mix of a man," he somberly agreed. "In fact, more so now after years of prosperity than ever before. And that shouldn't be so. I've noticed myself that something seems to be eating at him, but I've no idea what it is. We should all watch him carefully and make sure he doesn't do anything rash. I'll ask Faramir and Eomer to help when I talk to them. After all, I still have to relay the High King's orders to my troops!"

"Thank you, Gimli," Eowyn gratefully replied, smiling broadly. "I feel better already."

"And hearing that, so do I," the Dwarf Lord responded with a wink. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and supervise these military maneuvers. Good day, my Lady of Rohan."

"Good day, General Gimli," answered Eowyn with an impish smile, unable to resist the jest of playing along.

Gimli had been carefully threading his way through the rocky remainder of the earlier battle. He was practically laughing out loud at the teasing way Lady Eowyn had ended the conversation. As he raised his eyes however he was quite disheartened by what he saw. He and his Dwarves, who were bringing up the rear of the forward-moving formation, had passed completely out of the debris field. The additional ammunition was, of necessity, being left behind. The Ents were quite some distance further ahead and would now be unable to rearm once they cast the stones that they had brought along. Not surprisingly, Nargurth took the opportunity to test their defenses.

The Rohirrim were flanking the east side of the Balrog's northward retreat, to keep him from possibly trying to turn that way. Many of the Ents were also moving through the area just west of the Field of Celebrant; although, thought the Dwarf Lord, it must have seemed strange to them to be herding a firestorm instead of a forest. And though the Dwarves were following directly behind Treebeard, since Grond represented the greatest threat to the enemy, most of the Ents were now strewn out in a semicircle with only a few of them to the west of that ancient weapon's advancing position.

They knew that the Fire Demon might try to double back at any moment, but they were really only prepared to prevent him from going south or east. Consequently, the southwestern portion of their defensive perimeter was thin. Realizing that if he could punch through or sweep around the end of the line he could get behind Treebeard and race for an undefended Fangorn; this is where Nargurth chose to strike.

The Balrog had been backpedaling before the approaching Ent with the intimidating, ancient armament. The distance between Treebeard and his flaming foe had been gradually decreasing, but no one realized that Nargurth was intentionally allowing this. The Shepherd of the Forest was occasionally brought to a halt by the fiery whip, intermittently flicking at his face. During one such stop, the Fire Demon suddenly sprinted to his right, angling southwestward. He was on a course toward the place where the north end of Fangorn Forest met the Misty Mountains. And there were only a few Ents that stood in his path.

Muttering expletives in Old Entish, Treebeard realized that he had been outmaneuvered. He moved to intercept but could not react quickly enough. The Balrog succeeded in slipping around him. Seeing their plight, the endangered Ents stood their ground and waited to sling their salvos at close range. The Rohirrim rushed to respond. The Dwarves also moved to aid them, their axes glinting in the morning sun as they ran towards the fiery, fleet-footed foe. Considering the extent of the injuries their forces had seemingly inflicted on the Fire Demon, his speed was surprising.

There were Six Great Battles in Middle-earth that finally resulted in the overthrow of Melkor. The first of these is not named by the Elves, though Thingol it was who finally secured a type of victory. The second, they call Dagor-nuin-Giliath, the Battle-under-Stars. It was not long after the coming of Feanor to Middle-earth. The third, they call Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle. And the fourth was Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame. The fifth one was Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Tears Unnumbered. The final battle, when the Valar vanquished Melkor, they call the War of Wrath.

In many of these encounters, the prowess of the Balrogs was tested against the Elves. And in some, even the might of men entered into the equation, although the Fire Demons held that to be of little account. There were times when the Elves proved themselves to be mightier than the servants of Melkor, whom they call Morgoth if they name him at all. For Ecthelion slew Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs, during the Fall of Gondolin. And Earendil killed Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the Dragons, during the War of Wrath. But the Dwarves are another matter.

The Naugrim, which is the Sindarin name for the Dwarves, are not of the Children of Iluvatar; which are the Firstborn, the Elves, and the Followers, Men. The Seven Fathers of the Dwarves were actually created by Aule, one of the Valar. He earnestly wanted someone to whom he could teach his craft and lore. And he grew impatient waiting for the coming of the Children of Iluvatar, so he fashioned the Dwarves in secret. But Iluvatar knew what Aule had done. And although He would not allow them to be destroyed, He could not suffer them to precede the Firstborn. They were therefore put to sleep until after the Children of Iluvatar had awakened.

In many ways, consequently, the Dwarves are unlike the other races of Middle-earth. Sauron discovered this when he tried to ensnare them with the Seven Dwarf Rings. They proved difficult for him to master, highly resistant to his control. He could not understand them, nor could he turn them to evil. He could only encourage their greed for the getting of gold and so troubled them.

Aside from this attempt to enslave them, the prowess of the Dwarves against the servants of Morgoth had never really been put fully to the test before. Nargurth was painfully aware of this as he observed the hollering hoard that hurried to harry him. Seemingly tireless, this same band had run before him for days in the darkness of Moria. Now, despite his uncontested butchery of one of the ostensibly indomitable Ents, they seemed to think that it was he whom they would succeed in felling with their annoying axes. He was uncertain of just how seriously to take their threat. But it seemed preferable to turn briefly aside and extinguish their insult rather than rush into the range of the remaining Ents. And it also seemed sensible to assume that the Shepherds of the Forest would hold their fire if he were in close proximity to their friends.

As the Balrog angled to intercept them, Gimli had his group hold their positions and prepare to throw. Each of his warriors was equipped with two axes. One was a smaller throwing axe. The other was a battleaxe. He instructed them to wait for his signal and then throw the smaller ones in unison. They were then to separate as they deployed their main weapons. He hoped that by so doing they would create an opportunity for inflicting the most amount of damage to the opponent, perhaps even holding him up until the line could reform and repel him. Needless to say, Gimli fully expected that he and his companions would not survive the encounter.

Knowing little of the Dwarves and their industry, Nargurth did not comprehend the reason for their presence in Moria. If he had, he might have reconsidered his decision to race headlong into them and their weapons. Their axes were of the newest generation, having been reinforced and edged with Mithril. The blades actually stuck in Nargurth, bringing him suddenly to a screaming stop.

Fire erupted from the places where he had been impaled as the Balrog reeled unexpectedly backwards. Blinded by pain, he frantically slashed the air in front of him with his blazing sword to deflect any further attacks. The whip-bearing hand moved up and down his flaming form, fumbling as it attempted to delicately dislodge the unexpectedly inserted implements. Heat waves from his shuddering, blast-furnace breath made the agonized image distort before them as the Dwarves brandished their battleaxes and began to move left and right around their injured opponent.

Despite their demonstrated ability to do him great harm, Nargurth would probably have killed them in a rage, suffering that further damage in order to see them kindle. But the precious time he lost, extracting their axes, allowed the Rohirrim to respond. They had circled around southward to come in from behind the defending Dwarves. As the Balrog wheeled, alerted to their approach by the sound of their thunder, he discovered that Treebeard was nearly on top of him. He turned and bolted northwestward, literally running for his life.

His eyes gleaming as Gimli gazed upon the blades of the reinforced weapons; he recalled the criticism that had been aimed at him by another master craftsman, as he mockingly muttered, "A waste of material indeed? If you ask me, I'd say it could hardly have been put to a better use!"

King Eomer rode up as the Dwarves were collecting their throwing axes. The noonday sun revealed the unusual silver gleam in the edges of the weapons. With a knowing smile and nod, he spoke to the Dwarf Lord.

"It seems your ancient war hammer isn't the only weapon on this battlefield for the Balrog to fear," he observed. "Did you know it would be so or is there some other wisdom at work here?"

"Wisdom and craft are often smelted together, when they come from one such as Aule, and only separated when they're finally applied," the Dwarf Lord replied, referring to the source of the knowledge by which the armaments had been forged. It was a highly intuitive question that the King had put to him. But seeing the lack of understanding in Eomer's eyes, in response to his answer, he changed the subject, saying, "High King Elessar has given me strict instructions that there is to be no more loss of life on this battlefield."

Eomer laughed as he answered, "I'm not the one who ordered his troops to go up against a Fire Demon with nothing but handheld weapons, wonderfully wrought though they may be! A little more care in how we engage this monster will doubtlessly satisfy the High King's command! But I wonder, Master Dwarf, did he give any indication of where we should be driving this adversary? We seem to have put it on a course back towards Moria. And we surely cannot allow it to escape into the same pit from whence it emerged only to trouble us another day."

The Dwarf Lord and the King of Rohan had gotten off to a rocky start initially, but then they became friends on the battlefield. Such taunting banter intentionally made light of the uneasiness with which their association had begun. And Gimli was about to rise to the occasion in response. But Eomer's observation suddenly alerted him to another potential danger.

"No, it cannot be allowed to reenter Moria!" he heartily agreed. "But it also cannot be allowed to stay on its present course! When the Fire Demon fled southward, before the Great Eagles, my people remained it the Dimril Dale. Hundreds of families will be trapped if it continues northwest!"

"We could try to drive it directly westward and up into the mountains," suggested Eomer.

"From there," objected Gimli, "its movements would be impossible to control. It could just use the mountains to go south, and your horsemen would probably be unable to pursue. It would give the Ents access to lots of boulders, but I'm not sure how maneuverable they would be in that terrain. We could end up losing more of them. When it engaged us in the plain, it was only thinking about moving south and east. It didn't know about Treebeard and Grond or about our axes. Now that it does, it might elect to simply enter Fangorn from the mountains. Even the Great Eagles probably couldn't track it through the middle of a forest fire. We might end up only giving it safe passage to the Gap of Rohan."

"What then?" asked Eomer, raising his empty hand and shrugging his shoulders.

As Gimli gazed northeastwards at the long shadow on the horizon, Eomer could not help but notice the deep sadness in his tone of voice as the Dwarf Lord hesitantly replied, "What a terrible fate that such a choice should be forced upon us. Long has my heart yearned to return and visit those woods, even though she left there long ago; but my duties as the Lord of Khazad Dum kept me far too busy. And now, there may never again be such an opportunity. This Balrog of Morgoth will most assuredly reduce that enchanted forest to ash. And all trace of her presence will be lost. You must give the order. I cannot."

Eomer had no idea what had so deeply affected his friend. He had never seen Gimli so close to tears, not even on the battlefield. He knew of the woodland that lay beyond the northern border of his kingdom. Most considered the River Limlight as that boundary, although a few of his most ambitious ancestors had apparently considered the territory all the way to the River Nimrodel as being annexed. But he had never been that presumptuous, because the River Nimrodel actually passed directly through a forest. And for a period of time that extended beyond the traditions of Rohan, those woods had been the abode of a mighty Elf queen. His people knew it as Dwimordene. But some, who had actually engaged in dealings with those Elves, often referred to it as Lothlorien.

"The Balrog is very grievously injured, perhaps it will not even make it that far," Eomer gently replied. "If Treebeard can catch up with him, we could finish this thing today. We must steer this monster away from Moria anyway. And I doubt that the Shepherd of the Forest will defend Lorien with any less diligence that he did Fangorn. Take heart, Master Dwarf, any number of unforeseen things may befall before we would be forced to allow this Balrog to escape into any woodland."

"Aye," Gimli agreed. "That they may. But we cannot box it in on an open plain. So unless we can succeed in killing it, it's got to go somewhere. And our choices are very limited, none of them good."

"Then perhaps we should concentrate on killing it," Eomer suggested. He then added, with a smirk, "If we can do that without disobeying the wishes of the High King!"

When he saw that he had succeeded in getting the Dwarf Lord to laugh, Eomer continued, "I think it would be best if your troops mounted up with some of our riders. You'll never get ahead of the Balrog on foot, and we may need your magical blades in order to make it turn. We should also ride by Treebeard and let him know the direction we're going to try to force it to take. He might be able to intercept and dispatch this Fire Demon if he knew how to cut it off."

"Cut it off and then cut it up!" Gimli concluded. "Sounds like a good plan to me!"

The Dwarves were soon mounted with some of the Rohirrim. Gimli of course rode with the King of Rohan. Faramir and the King's Guard were near at hand and were quickly brought up to date on the new plan. The Steward easily agreed with the strategy, having already concluded that driving the monster into the mountains could well be a big mistake. If it went southward, as they expected, but bypassed Fangorn Forest, it would find the Tower of Isengard virtually undefended. And if it could gain access to and take refuge in that fortress, they might never be rid of it.

Nargurth was obviously running as fast as his injuries would allow. And the Ent-strides of his pursuer were not making it possible for Treebeard to overtake him. Strangely, their best speeds now appeared to be evenly matched. Had it not been for the fact that he was carrying Grond, perhaps Treebeard could have won the contest; but that would have been suicide. And Eomer found that it was much harder to approach the bounding form than he had anticipated. Impact tremors made the ground an imprecise target for his mount as they neared the hindmost of the competing colossuses. Afternoon was wearing into evening before they finally overtook him.

"Treebeard!" Eomer shouted from the back of his rushing steed. "We must keep it from going back into Moria or up into the mountains! We're going to try to make it turn northeast! If you start angling that way, you may be able to intersect it! We need to bring it down before it can reach the woods of Lothlorien!"

"Lothlorien?" asked the Ent in reply, bellowing in outrage. "Have we turned it back from its course into Fangorn only to have it burn another forest? Why can't we just herd it eastward?"

Faramir had also ridden up alongside of the hastening herdsman, and fielded the question, shouting, "It's trying to go east! We can't let it do that! If it crosses the Anduin, it may be able to slip around the Army of Gondor! We would have no tactical advantage in the Brown Lands! And once it reached Emyn Muil, we would probably have to break off pursuit! I'm afraid that herding it towards Lothlorien is the only way! But we must try to stop it before it gets there!"

Treebeard abruptly changed course and angled northeastwards. The horses, responding to the unexpected motion, nearly threw the nearby riders. And the restraining arm of Eomer was the only thing that kept Gimli from taking a tumble. At their speed, such a fall could easily have been fatal. But the King of Rohan masterfully steadied his mount, making it accelerate to pass around the northwest side of the fleeing firestorm ahead. Gimli and his gang readied their weapons.

As the Balrog was bypassed, he discerned what was happening and initially tried to angle towards those who were overtaking him. The first few axe throws, enhanced with additional arrow strikes, quickly dissuaded him. Nargurth rapidly recalculated his course, turning in the intended direction. Treebeard detected the hitch in his enemy's gate as the Fire Demon realized the Ent was on an intercepting course and knew that the defenders were trying to force a confrontation.

The Balrog switched the whip into his right hand, the hand that would be nearest his enemy. It forced Treebeard to consider how best to engage his adversary. And he suddenly realized that it would be nearly impossible to swing his formidable weapon while racing at a dead run.

When he wielded Grond before, the Shepherd of the Forest had enjoyed the element of surprise. And he had also been afforded the time to root himself to the spot before delivering the blow. Swinging the war hammer while running was going to throw him helplessly off balance. He really needed Nargurth to simply stand and fight, even if the reach of the whip proved to be the deciding factor. But the conflagrating contestant was not so condescending. Understanding how disadvantaged was his opponent, he used flicks of his whip to force the Ent into a nearly parallel course. Nargurth forced them to stay on that track as the woods drew slowly but inevitably nearer.

Gimli considered using additional axe strikes to force the Balrog within range of Treebeard's weapon. But they could possibly send the Fire Demon barreling into him before the Ent could respond. And there was also the chance of deflections endangering their champion. Axe strikes were sure to be at least as debilitating to Treebeard as they were to Nargurth. There simply was no way to force another skirmish in time to prevent it; Nargurth reached the woods of Lothlorien.

The pursuit drew up short as the Balrog passed between the outlying trees. A fiery trail now stretched all the way across the grasslands and into the quickly kindling forest. Falling back from the increasing inferno, the countenance of the defenders fell. Riding up with King Eomer and the Rohirrim, Gimli dismounted and moved to stand beside the angst-ridden Ent.

"I would have died defending these trees," Treebeard sorrowfully said.

To his surprise; the diminutive, axe-bearing figure at his side softly replied, "Aye, so would I."


	4. Chapter 4

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Four: A House of Many Stories**

As the conversation with Gimli came to an end, the hobbits turned in astonishment to their increasingly grizzled guide. They had all seen the Balrog with which Gandalf had been forced to contend in Moria, as well as the image of Nargurth in the Palantir. And they had also seen one of the Great Eagles very recently from the edge of the Barrow Downs. But despite the almost unspeakable grandeur of the Lords of the Air, it seemed unreasonable to pit them against the Fire Demon. It was Pippin who finally voiced the unspoken, mutual objection. But looking again suddenly more like old Tom Bombadil, the driver of their cart smiled as he turned and explained the wisdom of his gambit.

"Thorondor, King of Eagles, once marred the face of Morgoth, the Great Enemy himself," he said. "You remember how I told you about Feanor, the great Elf who captured the Light of the Two Trees of Valinor in the Three Silmarils? He had two half-brothers, both also fathered later by Finwe. They were Fingolfin, the eldest, and Finarfin, the younger. During the time when Fingolfin was the High King of the Noldor, he actually met Morgoth in single combat. One of the Silmarils was much later regained by means of cunning subterfuge and Songs of Power. But he was the only one of Elven kind to ever undertake such a direct confrontation. Needless to say, he did not survive it; though the tale is well worth the telling, for he did succeed in inflicting a grievous injury. And Morgoth went halt of one foot after that day until the Valar finally hewed both of his feet from under him. But after High King Fingolfin had been wearied by his efforts to avoid Grond, and then crushed by the foot of the Great Enemy, Morgoth broke his body. It would have been thrown to the wolves but for the intervention of Thorondor. The King of Eagles attacked Morgoth, marring the face of the Great Enemy with his talons. Morgoth sported those scars until he was eventually evicted from Arda."

"That was even braver than fighting with the mounts of the Ring Wraiths," gasped Merry.

"Indeed," Radagast heartily agreed. "And Thorondor also played a part in retaking the first of the Silmarils."

"I thought they were regained when the Valar destroyed Angband," objected Samwise.

"Two of them were," replied Radagast. "One had already been taken from Morgoth's crown. In fact, it's the very same one that Earendil brought back across the sea to the Blessed Realm when he, alone of all the inhabitants of Middle-earth, was finally able to successfully entreat the Valar to intercede in the matter of Morgoth."

"Earendil," echoed Samwise. "I've heard that name before. I believe he was one of Aragorn's ancestors. And the Phial of Galadriel also contained light of that same name, although I really don't understand the connection. But how did he take one of the Three Blessed Jewels from the Great Enemy's crown? I thought you said Fingolfin was the only one who ever actually met Morgoth in combat and he died as a result."

"The Silmaril came to Earendil as an heirloom because of his linage," Radagast explained. It was with a sudden, distinct sadness that he continued, "My marriage to Goldberry wasn't the first time one of the Maiar married outside our race. Ages ago, there was an Elf of the Blessed Realm named Elwe, which in the Sindarin tongue is Thingol. He fell in love with one of my kind, a radiant being known as Melian. After they married, they came to Middle-earth together. He then became King of Doriath, the Hidden Realm, which was an area of Middle-earth that Melian made invisible to the dark power of Morgoth by surrounding it with a magical barrier, the Girdle of Melian. Unlike mine, their marriage was blessed with offspring. They had a daughter named Luthien."

"I don't understand," said Pippin as carefully as he could. "I've seen you do many marvelous and amazing things, even before you revealed to us that you're a Wizard. Perhaps it is unkind to ask, but why didn't you and Goldberry have children? Could such a seemingly natural thing really be beyond the power of one such as yourself?"

"Our love was certainly real and I surely have no regrets, save for that one shortcoming," he said softly. "And it was the result of deception, more of the poison of Saruman. For the license he granted me was false. And so great was my desire to obtain it, I was easily deceived. His duplicity was beyond my comprehension. Being so full of joy and hope myself, I saw only benevolence in the ease with which he allowed me to resign from the White Council and annul my obligations to the Istari."

"Now I really don't understand," Pippin candidly admitted. "But I can see that the pain of it is still very close to you. And it is certainly not my wish to make you grieve. But we have been good friends for a very long time; perhaps it would help you to talk about it."

It was a long measuring look that the Wizard directed at the Keeper. But Pippin met the gaze unflinchingly. His intentions were pure. He meant only to minister and perhaps gain useful insight. He was not being divisive. Since his feelings were quite genuine, he felt no need to conceal them, especially from the very individual whom he was trying to encourage to greater openness. Simple was his wisdom, profound perhaps in its very simplicity. But it was wisdom, nonetheless. And its intended recipient instantly recognized that it had not originated in the Shire.

"Methinks you spent far too much time around my old friend Gandalf," Radagast replied with a knowing glint in his eye. "But your point is well taken, and your counsel is good. I will share with you the tale of Radagast and Goldberry. And then, if you will be good enough to remind me, I will also finish for you the tale of Beren and Luthien."

"This is going to be great," said Merry, smiling broadly as he filled his pipe and wedged one of the blankets between his back and the side of the lightly bouncing cart. "Don't get me wrong. I certainly do love the old stories. But I prefer news that is more contemporary. And I especially like hearing about the deeds of people I actually know, particularly for the first time. Say on."

"Yes," Samwise agreed. "Tell us your story. We wish to know your part in this tale."

"Very well," Radagast quietly consented. "It was late September when I met your party in the Old Forest and helped you on your way to Bree. Earlier that same year, Saruman had sent me to bring a message to Gandalf. My inquiries concerning his whereabouts led me to the border of the Shire. I met him there in June. In response to the message, which I relayed, he encouraged me to establish watchers among the animals and the birds. He told me to have them bring any news to Isengard. I'd passed through that region of the country only once before when traveling eastward from the Gray Havens after I first arrived in Middle-earth long ago. I'd spent most of my time here either in Mirkwood or other areas east of the Misty Mountains and never traveled further west than Rivendell. Since I had found Gandalf near this place called Shire, and it was undeniably of special importance to him, it seemed reasonable to begin the fulfillment his request while still in that area.

"And so it was that I entered the Old Forest and almost immediately met Goldberry. I thought for a moment, although I knew it to be impossible, that I had found Luthien herself. For she chose mortality and so passed out of the world long ago, and I could think of no other way that someone of mortal form could possibly be so fair or so skilled in woodcraft. I don't know if it's true of all her people or only of her family, but they had lived for a very long time in close proximity to a band of Wood Elves and had learned from them the lore of the woodlands. In truth, though mortal, to me she seemed more like the Maiar, my own kind, than she did like one of the Eldar, from whom she had learned her ways. I was struck to the heart, both by the sight of her and her mannerisms, the very first time we met. And having learned from the Eldar, she immediately recognized that I was fundamentally different from any being she had previously encountered.

"She was both respectful and playful at the same time. My friends, how could I have endured for long such treatment? She overwhelmed me! She tried to disguise her true feelings toward me with jests, but I clearly see the thoughts of all who are mortal. And her intention was not really to conceal so much as it was to give me the chance to assure her that her sentiments were being reciprocated and were therefore truly appropriate. Our love was like an enchantment that altered our very natures as well as that of our environment. I asked her to be my wife and promised that I would return to live with her in the Old Forest. She consented.

"I immediately headed for Isengard. Being the head of my order, only Saruman the White could grant me the liberty to resign from my position on the White Council and retire from among the ranks of the Wizards. As men count time, we had recently put forth our combined strength and driven Sauron from the fortress of Dol Guldur at the southwestern corner of Mirkwood. That is why I had chosen to live there, to be vigilant against his return. But his retreat had been a ploy. In secret, he'd been rebuilding the Dark Tower in Mordor. He simply returned there. And Saruman had assured us that the One Ring was forever lost, having long ago been washed into the sea. I had no reason to be suspicious of him. But if I hadn't both arrived and left before the coming of Gandalf to Isengard, I would most certainly have met a different fate.

"As it was, he readily gave me leave to pursue my course of love with Goldberry. I thought it was out of kindness. I had no idea that he saw it as an opportunity to get me out of the way. Nor did I have any inkling of the plot that he was about to hatch against Gandalf to either convert him into a fellow servant of evil or imprison him. He did insist however that I complete my errand. He also commanded that I deliver in person the news of my resignation to the other members of the White Council. As hastily as I could, for the entire journey was on horseback, I returned from my errand to Mirkwood by passing through Lothlorien. In Rivendell, Lord Elrond insisted that I leave my Staff. And there it yet resides.

"I had just returned to the Old Forest, taken Goldberry as my wife, and taken up residence in our new home when it was graced by the presence of such as yourselves, unlikely guests though you may have been! And it was a long time before I suspected anything. I had arranged for news to be sent to Isengard, not understanding that it would only be misused and that I should've made myself the intended recipient. But I was on honeymoon and blissfully unaware of the troubles that raged in the world all around me. By the time I finally understood your plight, the war was over."

"We don't blame you," Samwise assured him. "And it's not like you didn't help us. In actuality, you helped us twice. The Fellowship would have failed before it even reached Bree had it not been for you!"

The morning had long since worn away, and Radagast took advantage of the interruption of his narrative to stop the cart and give everyone a brief rest. Having been a gardener and farmer most of his life, Sam knew a few things about livestock. Barley and Sugarloaf had maintained an extremely fast trot throughout the first half of the day. Despite that, they actually appeared to be frisky, as if they could hardly wait to resume their trek. He strongly suspected that some magical ingredient was being added to their food. Hardy as the draft ponies appeared, he knew such vigor to be unnatural.

So much information had been imparted during the day's conversation already; Sam had let slip one of the questions that he had intended to ask Radagast. And as they were climbing back aboard, it was Merry who framed the inquiry.

"Did you say it was Elrond who insisted that you leave your Staff in Rivendell?" he asked. "It seems strange to me that he would require such a thing of you when Saruman had not. Why do you suppose he did that?"

"It wasn't for disciplinary reasons, if that's what you're thinking," Radagast replied. "He didn't have the authority to require it of me. But it wasn't an order; it was his counsel. And so I accepted it. Lord Elrond is well known for being gifted with foresight. After all, he is one of the two sons of Earendil."

"Earendil was his father?" demanded Samwise incredulously.

"No," answered the Wizard. "Earendil is his father. Both yet endure. And I can see that you'll require an explanation concerning their relationship as well. But I distinctly remember promising that I would tell you first the lay of Beren and Luthien. And since I can hardly describe for you the events that led up to the voyage of Earendil without first doing so, that is what I shall do!"

"Oh yes!" Merry heartily agreed. "You must tell us the whole tale. Nothing else will suffice."

"Very well," said Radagast as he started the tireless draft ponies back down the road. "Then let us begin. Princess Luthien was the daughter of King Thingol, an Elf of the Blessed Realm, and Melian, a Maia. She lived in the Hidden Kingdom, which her mother had surrounded with a Girdle of Enchantment. There she was safe from the many dangers that went abroad even in those days of Middle-earth. But as you might expect for one so highborn, her parents had lofty aspirations for her when it came to the matter of marriage. And such a sheltered life, which she was forced to lead, was hardly agreeable to one of mixed linage.

"Beren was the son of Barahir. Barahir had received a ring from Finrod Felagund, nephew of King Fingolfin, the same one who died in single combat with Morgoth. For Barahir rescued Finrod during the Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame, fourth of the great battles in the Wars of Beleriand. That ring was given to Barahir as a token of his friendship with Elf kind. And it became an heirloom of the House of Isildur. You may have actually seen this very same ring on the finger of Aragorn. For you see, Beren was the immediate heir of the man to whom this ring was originally given."

"I know the very ring you're talking about!" exclaimed Merry. "So that's where it came from! It was given as a gift to signify friendship with the Elves! But I can't say I've ever heard of Beleriand. Where's that?"

"Much of West Beleriand fell under the waves when the Valar destroyed Angband," Radagast replied. "What remains of East Beleriand is to the south and east of Mordor."

"It's hard to imagine such a thing," Pippin admitted. "And it makes me sad to think that it took such destruction to root out the Great Enemy, yet it didn't even rid the world of all his evils."

"It is most assuredly not my intention to sadden you, Master Peregrin," the Wizard said. "Let me instead finish for you this story, for it will undoubtedly lift your spirits. It is perhaps the favorite tale of the Elves, for in it is the beginning of the mingling of the Children of Iluvatar. And its seeds flowered to finally bring an end to the Darkness that so long had held sway in the unapproachable North."

"Please do!" replied Pippin, who still sounded overwhelmed by the image of ancient lands falling before the fury of the sea.

"It was by the treachery of Sauron that Beren's father, Barahir, was slain," said Radagast the Brown. "The Orcs, which Sauron sent, briefly had possession of the Ring of Felagund. But Beren, alone surviving of his father's party because of being sent on an errand, managed to take it back. He wandered in the land of his father's grave for four years. Like me, he became a friend of the birds and beasts. And he was a thorn in the side of the Great Enemy, doing such damage to the forces of Morgoth as a lone, desperate vigilante might accomplish. So finally, a bounty was put on his head. Then Sauron pursued him with werewolves, fell beasts inhabited by dreadful spirits that he had imprisoned in their bodies."

"Alright!" interjected Pippin. "You can start cheering me up anytime now!"

"Patience Pippin, we're getting there!" said Radagast, frustrated at the interruption, though the other two hobbits smiled at their banter. "So Beren finally fled. His dangerous journey brought him across the very Mountains of Shadow. From there he descried, afar, the land of Doriath. His heart was filled with a desire to take refuge within the fabled Hidden Kingdom where no man had gone before.

"I should probably mention, ere I forget, that Doriath is where Lady Galadriel met Celeborn, whom she later married. She also learned much of the lore and wisdom concerning Middle-earth from Melian while residing there. And it was to Galadriel that Melian had foretold the coming of a man, even a descendant of Beor the Old, the forefather of Beren, whom her Band of Enchantment would not restrain. And so it was that, beyond all explanation, Beren passed through the magical Girdle of Melian and entered Doriath.

"I will not say it was chance that Beren almost immediately encountered Luthien, for the will of Eru was surely at work. He was smitten to the core by the very sight of her. She however was not aware of him. And time passed before their first actual meeting. On that occasion, he called her Tinuviel. That means Nightingale or daughter of twilight in the Grey-Elven tongue, for he did not know her given name. As she looked upon him, she fell in love with him as well. But Thingol would not even entertain the notion of a marriage between his daughter and a mortal man. So he set what he believed to be an impossible price, which Beren would have to pay in order to have the right to ask Luthien for her hand. King Thingol required this dowry: one of the three Silmarils from the crown of Morgoth himself!"

"You must be joking!" exclaimed Merry, clearly outraged at the idea.

"No, I'm not," Radagast assured him. "And neither I'm afraid was Thingol. But Beren made light of the demand, vowing to fulfill it! He said that at their next meeting his hand would hold one of the Silmarils from the Iron Crown. And so he departed from Doriath to honor his pledge. It was like the very footsteps of doom. In the course of his journey, he encountered others of Elven kind and was brought before King Finrod Felagund, the same one who had given his father the ring. In the Elf King, he found an ally; although Finrod set himself against the sons of Feanor in aiding his quest, for they would suffer none but their own kin to possess one of the Silmarils.

"They ended up confronting Sauron himself. And the contest between Felagund and Sauron is of great renown, for Finrod contended with Sauron by the use of Songs of Power. And the power of the Elf King was very great indeed. But Sauron overmastered him, and both Beren and Finrod were thrown into a deep dungeon. A shadow fell over the heart of Luthien because of this evil turn. By seeking the counsel of her mother, Melian, its meaning was revealed to her. For Melian the Maia was able to discern the fate that had befallen Finrod Felagund and Beren. And it seemed without remedy. But Luthien would not abandon her lover to cruel torments and death at the hands of the lieutenant of Morgoth. She slipped unseen out of Doriath, intending to come to his aid, unwary of the wiles of the sons of Feanor."

"You've inferred this before," interjected Samwise. "But I'm not sure I understand why they were so evil. They were Elves of the Blessed Realm, weren't they?"

"Yes, that they were," replied Radagast with obvious sadness. "But their lust for the Silmarils had caused them to take a treacherous oath, and they had already committed many great evils in pursuing its fulfillment. Perhaps at another time I will tell you that part of the tale. But for now, let it suffice to say that they tricked Luthien and then took her prisoner. When Felagund left his kingdom of Nargothrond, to aid Beren in his quest, he passed his crown to his brother. But two of the sons of Feanor, Celegorm and Curufin, hoped to seize the kingdom for themselves. In fact, they actually hoped Finrod would come to his end in helping Beren. And so he did, while imprisoned by Sauron with Beren.

"But Celegorm was enamored of Luthien. And the two brothers thought to force King Thingol to give her in marriage. This would have made Celegorm the heir of the Hidden Kingdom and so would have increased the power of the sons of Feanor in Middle-earth. But it was actually Huan, the hound of the Valar, who had found Luthien and brought her to the brothers. Orome, the Vala, had given him to Celegorm. And the faithful hound had gone into exile with him when, against the clear objections of the Valar, Feanor and most of the Noldor crossed into Middle-earth to retrieve the Silmarils. But Huan was pure of heart and quickly came to love Luthien. He couldn't suffer her to be held prisoner and made a political pawn, so he helped her escape.

"With Huan, she came to the bridge of the tower where Beren was being held. Great Songs of Power she cast against that stronghold. And from within, Beren heard and answered. Sauron was aware of this, and thought to have great reward from his master, Morgoth, by seizing her as well. One after another, he sent his wolves. But Huan slew them all. And last of all, he finally sent Draugluin, the lord and sire of the werewolves at Angband. Huan dealt him a mortal wound. And fleeing back to die at Sauron's feet, he told his evil master that the hound of the Valar was there. So, at last, Sauron came out himself, having taken on the form of the mightiest werewolf of all. It was a fierce battle. But Huan pinned him by the throat and he could not escape without forsaking his body utterly. He was therefore forced to surrender the mastery of the tower or be stripped of his raiment of flesh and his ghost sent quaking back to endure the scorn of Morgoth. He yielded and was allowed to flee."

"What a mistake!" interjected Pippin. "She should've had Huan finish him!"

"At best, they would have robbed him of his ability to take any shape of his choice. And while that might have helped the Numenoreans later," Radagast replied, "it would not have prevented the War of the Ring. But a day did finally come when Sauron was robbed at last of his power to take pleasing shapes. Nor could he ever again assume a flying form, like the Balrogs. But that isn't part of this tale. And I must stay my course or I shall never finish it!"

"Very well!" Pippin tauntingly replied. "But a day will finally come for that tale as well!"

"I can't tell you the tale of Numenor without first telling you of Earendil," Radagast grumbled. "And I can't tell you how the Silmaril came to him without finishing the tale of Beren and Luthien!"

"You are wise to draw such conclusions," observed Merry, his eyes gleaming as he exhaled a long draw from his pipe. "So, you had probably best get with it."

"Insufferable Shirefolk!" muttered the Wizard. Then, after an exasperated sigh, he continued, "Many Elves of Nargothrond had been held captive in that tower with Beren. The rule of Finrod's brother was strengthened by their return; and Celegorm and Curufin were driven out, though they contended with Beren and Luthien at the borders of Doriath. And because the hound of the Valar finally and utterly broke faith with his master, Celegorm, no life was lost in that conflict. So Huan was bound to Luthien after that. And for a while, the couple remained in the outskirts of Doriath. But Beren's oath would not release him. And he attempted to leave the Hidden Kingdom without the knowledge of his beloved. But she was aware of it, and she followed him.

"Using her craft, she conceived a plan by which they hoped to come undetected into the very stronghold of the Great Enemy. Using the hides of the slain horrors, Beren actually took the form of Draugluin, the lord of the werewolves; and Luthien was transformed into the likeness of the fell bat messenger of Sauron, Thuringwethil. Clad in these disguises, they reached the towering Gate of Angband. There, Morgoth had stationed Carcharoth, offspring of Draugluin, and more dreadful even than his father. And news of the death of Draugluin had come to Carcharoth in Angband, so he knew that his father was dead. Therefore, he stopped them at the Gate.

"But Luthien, being descended from the Divine Race, shed her disguise, revealing herself to him openly but commanding him to sleep with mighty Songs of Power. So they passed through the Gate and entered Angband. Still camouflaged, Beren crept beneath the throne of Morgoth himself. Luthien however was clearly revealed to the Great Enemy. She offered to him her services as a minstrel and then proceeded to sing him to sleep, along with all the host of Angband. Morgoth collapsed from his throne like thunder, with his crown rolling across the floor. Luthien awakened Beren. And he used Angrist, the knife he had taken in his battle with Curufin, to cut a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth. In fact, he thought to take them all. But the blade broke after removing the first one, and the shard smote Morgoth on the cheek, causing him to stir.

"In terror, Beren and Luthien fled. Upon reaching the Gate, however, they found that the fell beast, Carcharoth, had awakened. And Luthien had no more strength with which to contend with him. Beren stepped forth with the Silmaril held high in his hand, thinking to put Carcharoth to flight. But the wolf was undaunted. And not considering the divine nature of that Sacred Jewel or the consequences of the action, it took Beren's hand in his mouth and bit it off at the wrist. A flame of anguish suddenly ignited his innards as the Silmaril seared his accursed flesh. Turning, he fled in agony.

"Beren quickly succumbed to the venomous wound he'd received from Carcharoth. Luthien's powers were all but spent. And the hosts of Angband had awakened. They would surely have died there before the Gate but for the coming of the Great Eagles. Thorondor and two of his vassals rescued Beren and Luthien and bore them away before the forces of Morgoth could issue forth and capture or kill them. And so they were returned to Menegroth, capital city of the Hidden Kingdom of Doriath. For a long time, it was uncertain whether Beren would recover from his hurt. When finally he did, he appeared before Thingol. And when the Hidden King asked him about his quest, Beren told him that it had been fulfilled. Indeed, there was a Silmaril in his hand; but it was in the belly of the wolf-monster, Carcharoth!

"In his anguish, the Wolf of Angband had been driven southward, towards Doriath. And even the Girdle of Enchantment was unable to restrain him, for he was driven by the Power of the Silmaril; so a hunting party was gathered to slay the fell beast and recover the Sacred Jewel. Doom fell upon Doriath that day. Defending King Thingol, Beren was bitten again by Carcharoth. Huan, Hound of the Valar, slew Carcharoth, but died in so doing. The Silmaril was recovered and it was placed in the hand of Beren. But even it could not sustain him, and he bid King Thingol to receive the dowry that he had been promised.

"Having been carried back to Menegroth, he lived just long enough to look once more in the eyes of his beloved. Luthien bid him to await her beyond the Western Sea, and then he died there in her arms. Darkness fell upon Luthien Tinuviel."

Radagast found it necessary to interrupt his narrative. All three hobbits were now sobbing uncontrollably and looking at him as if he had run them through with a blade. Pippin looked particularly betrayed by the turn of events.

"My friends," he said comfortingly. "The story, as you might think, does not end here. For the spirit of Beren, at the request of Luthien, tarried in the Halls of Mandos in Valinor. And though she died of grief for the loss of her beloved, her spirit was also brought there. In those hallowed Halls, beyond the Outer Sea, she sang the most beautiful and yet the most sorrowful song the world has ever heard. And the heart of Mandos was moved to pity as it never was before. But Mandos had no power to restrain the spirits of dead men to the confines of the world, nor was he able to alter the destinies of the Children of Iluvatar. He therefore took their case to Manwe, Lord of the Valar. And to Manwe the will of Iluvatar was revealed.

"Luthien was given a choice. She could either be released from the Halls of Mandos to live in Valimar, the city of the Valar, until the world's end, although Beren could not share in such a fate; or she could return to Middle-earth with Beren, sharing in his mortality. This she chose. So, they alone have returned from death to walk the mortal lands. And in that choice, the blood of the Two Kindreds has been joined. From that line have come many in whom the Eldar yet see the likeness of Luthien Tinuviel."

Evening was upon them and voices suddenly began to issue from the Palantir; as Faramir, realizing the Great Eagle's intent, looked into his Seeing Stone. Radagast spoke briefly with the Steward of Gondor. Gimli disengaged as soon as the Wizard entered the conversation. The Steward sounded hesitant toward the requests that were being made of him, but Radagast finally prevailed.

They took a short break, and then they climbed aboard the cart once more and rode on until nightfall. Being suspicious of the robust resilience of the draft ponies, Sam kept a watchful eye on Radagast as the Wizard bedded them down. He pursed his lips and nodded in vindication as he noticed an unidentified ingredient being added to their grain. The small leather pouch, from which the element issued, was quickly returned to the Wizard's vesture. Recalling how the incident with the Entwash had seemingly started; Samwise was glad Pippin had apparently failed to observe this procedure.

The Keeper, he thought, would probably try to secretly confiscate some, adding it to his own provender, and then end up having to run alongside the cart until it wore off. Although it might be somewhat amusing to precipitate such an incident, he had long since outgrown the need for such practical jokes. As lengthy as was the journey they were facing, he also knew it was possible that they might eventually have to resort to such enchantments out of necessity. Sugarloaf and Barley might ultimately have to be released, just as Bill the pony had been. And then, they would have to rely on their own vitality and anything that might extend it.

It was a darkling dawn. Waking from his dreams felt almost like escaping, but Samwise was unable to recall from what. He could recollect not one single element from the visions of the night, except that they left him feeling disturbed. Gazing eastward at the strangely strangled sunlight, he noticed an odd shadow hanging across the horizon. He knew it was not the Misty Mountains, still too distant to clearly discern. But it almost reminded him of the Shadow that had once hung over Mordor. He wondered if the awakening of the ancient evil that was now moving south from Moria was somehow causing it or if the Black Land might actually be sending forth its own old Darkness in anticipation of that terror's arrival. The thought made him shiver in the chill morning air. The hot breakfast helped to dispel the effect though.

Soon, they were headed back across the Great East Road again. Barley and Sugarloaf, the two draft ponies, quickly resumed their fast trot and the landscape began sweeping by. Having halted his tale before the gathering darkness of the previous evening, Radagast continued his account of the history of Middle-earth.

"Beren and Luthien returned for a time to the Hidden Kingdom. Then, they went out to dwell alone. And they had a son whom they named Dior. He was King Thingol's grandson and heir to Throne of Doriath. But for a long time, the Silmaril abode yet there in the Hidden Kingdom. It was an icon of great power and weighed much upon the heart of the king. He thought to have it set in a permanent mounting, something that would formalize his ownership of it to the son's of Feanor who urgently sought its delivery into their hands. And he besought the Dwarves to assist him; so the doom, by which the breaking of the fellowship between the Firstborn and the Children of Aule would be accomplished, was devised. For the splendor of the Sacred Jewel was far beyond that of any gem of the earth; and the Dwarves came to wholly desire it, turning on King Thingol and the Elves of the Hidden Realm. Thus Doriath was overthrown and the long life of Elwe, King Thingol Grey-mantle, ended.

"It was Beren who met the Dwarves in combat at Sarn Athrad, and he reclaimed the Silmaril. This is how it came to Prince Dior. He and his wife, an Elf named Nimloth, departed from Luthien and Beren and went to dwell in Menegroth to reestablish the glory of Doriath. For after the death of King Thingol, Melian departed from Middle-earth, leaving the sorrow of her loss and the ruin of the Hidden Kingdom behind."

"You said Melian was a Maia, even as yourself, didn't you?" Sam abruptly asked

"Yes," replied Radagast. And then, puzzled by the curious tone, he asked, "Why?"

"It's just occurred to me that there's quite a parallel," Samwise responded, sounding unusually thoughtful. He then said, "Each of you married outside your race, withdrawing into set borders, as Elrond said of you; then, you each used your powers to protect those borders and discourage entry. And after the passing of your mates, each of you left your forests and went elsewhere. Was it also your hope to finally return into the West?"

Looking over his shoulder from the driver's seat, the Wizard carefully regarded the suddenly insightful Samwise for several moments before replying, "There are a few very noticeable differences in the situation I now face. Goldberry was of mortal kind. Death for her was, therefore, inevitable. She died from natural causes, whereas King Thingol was betrayed and killed by the Dwarves. In truth, I did use the fear of the Old Forest to my advantage, playing up its worrisome reputation to the Bucklanders, whom I befriended, and to Farmer Maggot. The power of Radagast the Brown, even if I had my Staff in hand, is however by no means fit to be compared to that of Melian. But in answer to your question, I do not know by what means now, if any, I may yet return to the Far Shore. Aside from safe passage beyond the Walls of the World for my beloved, that was the topic of the prayer in which I was involved when you found me in the Barrow Downs."

"Surely that wasn't just a coincidence!" blurted Pippin. When all eyes turned to him, he hesitantly continued. "Perhaps our finding you at that precise moment was actually intended to put your feet on the path that will eventually take you home. It's a thought."

"At any rate, we will most certainly agree with your entreaty," offered Merry. "But you must now hasten to the end of your tale!"

"Very well!" laughed Radagast. "So, Dior and Nimloth went to go live in Menegroth, and with them went their children. They had two sons, Elurin and Elured. And they had a daughter named Elwing. She became the wife of Earendil."

"Now wait a minute!" protested Merry. "Where did Earendil come from? Are you trying to skip parts of the story?"

"Not at all, Master Merry," Radagast assured him. "Luthien wasn't the only Elf maiden to wed a mortal man. For Barahir, Beren's father, was not the only one of the Followers who had become a friend of the Firstborn. Huor was the father of Tuor. And the brother of Huor was Hurin, who had been of great service to both King Fingon and King Thingol. Together, the two brothers had been allowed to visit Gondolin, another great hidden kingdom of the Elves, the last to be overthrown. It was a very rare honor that was accorded them in that admittance. Both brothers were slain in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and Great Fifth Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Because of this, Tuor was orphaned. He was adopted and raised by the Grey Elves."

"I wish I'd been adopted and raised by the Elves!" Pippin complained.

"I'm raising you as best I can," Radagast replied with a wink. Pippin stuck his tongue out at the Wizard in response to this. But Radagast patiently continued, "Tuor became a messenger of one of the Valar, Ulmo, with whom he had an encounter. Fell deeds did the Noldor commit when they crossed the sea in pursuit of Morgoth and the Silmarils, with which I will not now burden your ears. But for these deeply lamentable deeds, they earned the Curse of Mandos. And Ulmo, the Vala, knew that the curse was hastening to its fulfillment. So he sent Tuor with words of counsel to Turgon, son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor in Gondolin, urging him and its inhabitants to return into the West. It was there in Gondolin that he met Idril Celebrindal whom he later married, Elf Princess of Gondolin and daughter of King Turgon. Earendil is their son."

"Somehow, I don't think they heeded the warning," ventured Samwise suspiciously.

"King Turgon believed Gondolin to be unassailable," Radagast said sorrowfully. "He had no idea that its secret mountain location and hidden ways of access had been found by the servants of Morgoth. Many songs have been written about its fall. For it was there that Ecthelion slew the Lord of the Balrogs, Gothmog, although he also perished in so doing. And there were many great deeds that enabled some of its benighted inhabitants to escape.

"Thorondor and the Great Eagles played no small part in aiding the escape of the fugitives. A mighty Elf named Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, died defending their retreat; for he fought a Balrog, and both fell from the mountain top and into an abyss. But at last, Tuor and the party he led were able to journey southward. Eventually they followed the river to the sea and dwelt there by the mouths of the Sirion, joining their group to the people of Elwing, Dior's daughter. And this is how Earendil and Elwing met. When they wed, his fate was joined to that of the Sacred Jewel of which she was the keeper.

"Tuor, as you may recall, had become the messenger of Ulmo, the Vala, Lord of the Sea. As Tuor aged, the call of the sea grew ever stronger upon him. At last, he built a ship and sailed into the West with his wife, Idril Celebrindal. In after days, it was sung that Tuor was numbered among the Elder race and was joined with the Noldor whom he loved. But Earendil and Elwing abode yet in Middle-earth. Great and sudden was the wrath of the sons of Feanor in attempting to seize the Silmaril. They attacked the Elves at Sirion while Earendil was out upon the sea. The sons of Earendil and Elwing, Elrond and Elros, were both taken captive. Elwing, with the Silmaril upon her breast, cast herself into the sea. But Ulmo bore her up and gave her the likeness of a great white bird with the Silmaril shining like a star upon her breast. So it was that she came to Earendil upon the sea. He learned of the ruin of the havens of the Sirion and of the captivity of their sons whom he feared would be killed.

"Turning from the shores of Middle-earth, he sought a passage to the Blessed Realm. And by reason of the power of the Silmaril, which shown ever more brightly as they passed into the West, they found that passage. In time, they came to the Bay of Eldamar and made anchor there at the very Shores of Valinor. And bearing the Silmaril he made his way into Valimar, appearing before the Valar. He entreated them for the sake of the Two Kindreds, which he was able because of his mixed linage to represent. And his petition was granted. So it was that the Valar acted once more in concert against Morgoth, this time driving him utterly out of the world. But they imposed a choice on those of mixed linage. Earendil and Elwing both elected to be numbered among the Firstborn, although they would not be allowed to leave the Blessed Realm again. Earendil now sails the sky in the Vingilot, his enchanted ship, bearing upon his brow the Silmaril. He has become the most beloved star of the Eldar. And in the circuit of his journey, he returns to the Blessed Realm and to Elwing.

"Elrond and Elros were not part of that journey and did not step foot on the Immortal Lands. But Elrond also chose to be counted as one of the Firstborn of the Children of Iluvatar. He it was who founded Rivendell and remained in Middle-earth until the end of the Third Age, as well you know. His brother, Elros, chose to be numbered among the Followers, Men. This was the beginning of the Numenoreans, the Dunedain. In them, some of the wisdom and the strength and even some of the longevity of the Eldar yet remains. And your friend, Aragorn, now Elessar, High King of Gondor, is a descendant of that line. And of course his wife, Arwen, is the daughter of Elrond."

"What about the other two Silmarils?" Samwise asked. "What became of them?"

"They were recovered by the Valar, and then they were stolen by the two remaining sons of Feanor, Maedhros and Maglor. And the Valar allowed this, for these two had become so evil that they were unable to touch the Silmarils. And they were driven mad by this inability. Maedhros was badly burned by his Silmaril and, taking it with him, he cast himself into a pit of fire. Maglor finally threw his into the sea and then he vanished from knowledge, never dwelling again among any of the Eldar. So, one of the Silmarils went into the depths of the sea, one has gone into the fires of the earth, and the other rides across the heavens on the brow of the Blessed Mariner. They were, if you will, the inspiration for the Three Elf Rings; for they were the Rings of Water, Fire, and Air."

"And those are all gone now, too. Aren't they?" asked Pippin.

"Yes," the Wizard replied. "And all that was made with their power is now fading as well."

Wet weather moved in, complicating further discussion. It stayed with them all through that day and into the next. By the time the clouds finally broke, they were passing by Weathertop. All three hobbits were glad for the fortuitous return of sunlight. It helped to dispel their dark memories of that place. With the weather both warming and clearing, and the most infamous feature along the road to Rivendell now behind them, they took exceptional enjoyment in their evening meal. It was obvious that they were making very good time. Their dreams began to be filled with images of the tales, which Radagast had been sharing with them. And they felt encouraged by the heroes of those stories. The next day, they were excited to hear from Eowyn and heartened by her news of the riding of the Rohirrim.

Over the next several days, Radagast rehearsed for them the history of Numenor, also known as Westernesse or Anadune. It was a great island that had been created by the Valar for Elros and all of his descendants, the Numenoreans or Dunedain. He told them how Sauron the Deceiver, who had fled before the Valar and escaped the ruin of Angband, finally succeeded in misleading a ruler of this kingly line into believing that immortality was being deliberately withheld from them. According to that counsel, they tried to launch an assault against the Blessed Realm itself. Those not if favor of this course sought harbor in Middle-earth. And the Faithful were spared when Westernesse was destroyed. Elendil became their king. But he was slain by Sauron on the plains of Gorgoroth at the end of the Second Age. He was the father of Isildur, the same one who, after his father fell, took up the hilt-shard of his father's sword, Narsil, and, albeit inadvertently, cut the One Ring from the hand of the Dark Lord.

"Sauron underestimated the speed and the severity of the response from Valinor," Radagast said to Pippin. "He was overtaken by the fierceness of the wrath, which was unleashed upon Numenor. That is how he was disembodied. It was a long time before he could take physical form. And after that, he wasn't able to take a pleasing shape, only one that revealed his true malicious nature. When Isildur cut the One Ring from the Dark Lord's hand, Sauron was separated from part of his own life force. This is why he could only appear as the Eye of Sauron, which you glimpsed from the Black Gate before it fell."

Nearly a week out from Bree, having just crossed the River Mitheithel by means of the Last Bridge, the Palantir allowed them to overhear a conversation between Eowyn and Faramir. They knew that the Beacons were being lit. And about half an hour later, High King Elessar responded. The hobbits could scarcely believe the way he spoke to Radagast, although they understood how Isildur's heir might have felt abandoned by the Wizard at the time. But the conversation did finally conclude on a civil note.

Although riding in a cart was surely less uncomfortable than walking; after spending days in its jostling confines, they were glad to finally be passing by the Trollshaws and only about another day away from the Ford of Bruinen. They were now very close to Rivendell. The following day, as they were preparing to cross the River Bruinen, they overheard another update. This was a report on the first confrontation with the Balrog. Since they knew many of the Ents by name, Pippin and Merry were almost relieved that the identity of the casualty was not revealed. It was encouraging however to know that Treebeard was enjoying such great success with Grond. The plan seemed to be working, so far. Sam thought that Gandalf would actually be proud of the way Radagast was handling their current crisis, but he also thought it would probably seem flippant to make such an observation out loud.

Though the draft ponies incredibly seemed not to mind it, Radagast was pushing them very hard. They arrived at Rivendell the following evening. The King's Guard welcomed them, saluting Pippin according to their custom. And the Keeper suddenly looked to be in his own element. They were shown to the main house. While Radagast explained their provisional needs to the Captain of the Guard, the hobbits wandered all around the great room. Finally turning to them, the Wizard could see the wonder written on their faces.

"Most of the pictures on these walls seem to relate to the stories you've been telling us," said Merry.

"Yes, they do," agreed Radagast. "Some might even evidence a few details that I may have glossed over. The Elves, who painted them, were recalling the elements in the first person."

"Will we be able to stay here long?" asked Pippin hopefully.

"No, only overnight," replied Radagast firmly, but obviously saddened at having to disappoint the Keeper. Realizing that the Captain of the Guard had stayed after being dismissed, Radagast asked, "Were you waiting to show us to our rooms?"

It was a quizzical smile with which he was answered. He suddenly noticed that he could not discern the man's intentions. And he understood this to mean that there was Numenorean blood in the veins of the Captain of the Guard. He was much too young to have learned to mask his thoughts by spending time around the Elves. They had left Middle-earth long before he could have been born. Marking the astonishingly sea-gray eyes, the Wizard patiently waited for the reply.

"I'm sure there's something else you'll want to see first," the young man answered. "If you will please come with me, I would be honored to be present for this reunion."

The man's curious behavior and tone got the attention of the hobbits. They all tagged along as Radagast followed his escort out of the great room. Arriving in what appeared to be a massive sitting room; the man very purposefully marched up to a large closet and ceremoniously opened its doors. It was almost empty. There were only three items within its confines. In one corner at its back was a lute. Its strings glistened as if they were made of Mithril. In the other corner there was a long wooden flute. It was covered with ornate carvings.

Standing in the center of the alcove, and not suspended by any visible supports, was a long wooden Staff. How it could have remained balanced in that position seemed beyond explanation. And to the hobbits it looked very much like the Staff with which Gandalf had gone about before his reemergence from Moria. They were elated to see that their Wizard was about to be reunited with it, because it seemed reasonable to assume that it could only help them in their quest. But even their comprehension of the significance of the moment could hardly have prepared them for the sudden spectacle that ensued.

Stepping into the enclosure, Radagast took the cherished icon into his grasp. There was an immediate consequence. The alcove abruptly filled with a strange, beautiful light. This was despite the complete absence of windows within the storage chamber. The instruments produced music, as if played by unseen hands. And the surface of the rod was altered as the Staff budded in his hand. Even the Wizard himself was changed. His raiment turned from Brown to Green. As he turned to face them, the peculiar hue was even evident in his hair and beard. And his irises now looked like sparkling emeralds. The Captain of the Guard ceremoniously bowed before the emerging specter, and the bewildered hobbits followed suit. Their transformed guide stood before them.

_**Transformation**_

_(Instrumental)_

"What's happened to you?" Samwise breathlessly asked.

"I am Radagast the Green," the Wizard replied. "And by the power of all growing things, I will protect you from the Shadow and bring you safely to your destination."

"May those who have dwelt with Iluvatar, beyond the Walls of the World, yet deliver us from the Darkness and those who serve it," the Captain of the Guard intoned as if he were reciting an ancient benediction. Rising and facing the foursome, he continued, "If you are ready, I will show you to your sleeping chambers now."

"First," replied Radagast, looking at him through those shockingly emerald eyes and smiling knowingly, "you must tell us your name and your linage. For I perceive that there is clearly Numenorean blood in your veins."

"I am Arador, named after my grandfather," the Captain of the Guard answered quietly. "His son was Arathron, the father of Aragorn. But he also had a daughter. She is Aragorn's aunt and my mother. High King Elessar is my cousin."

"You would keep a thing like that secret from such distinguished guests?" Radagast teased him jokingly.

"I have no designs on the thrown, so I make no mention of my heritage; my father was not from the line of the kings," Arador replied. "It's a far greater honor, I would contend, to be entrusted as the caretaker of such an esteemed estate. But I keep a much greater secret than that. The previous master of this house, as well you know, was blessed with foresight, but perhaps not more so than at least one of his other guests. And the one to whom I refer is also a member of your order. He left something here for you."

Besides a very ornate table and a collection of obviously handcrafted chairs, there was only one other piece of furniture in the spacious sitting room. It was a large cabinet. And Arador turned quickly, opened it with a flourish, and abruptly produced a long sheathed sword. The hobbits saw that even the scabbard was a thing of great beauty, not understanding that the Elf runes, written thereon, had the power to keep the blade within perpetually sharp. Radagast exposed the blade as the Captain of the Guard passed the weapon to him. Having seen it used in combat firsthand, Pippin instantly recognized it.

"Glamdring!" he exclaimed. "That was Gandalf's sword!"

"So it was indeed," Arador agreed. "And now it is the prized possession of your Wizard. Are you now ready for me to show you to your rooms?"

Amid many mute nods of ascent, he turned and led them from the sitting room. Stepping out onto the landing, it was clear that the majesty of the Elven village had been meticulously maintained. There had even been some construction. A number of bunkhouses had been erected. Their guide explained to them that the caretakers entered the original dwellings only to clean or refurbish. The Elven structures were treated almost as if they were museums, so nobody actually lived there. They were afraid that human occupancy and continued use of the primary facilities, now that the Eldar were gone, would only hasten decay. He told them however that one of the older buildings was still used to house honored guests such as themselves. And the hobbits were obviously happy to learn that they would indeed pass the night among the ancient trappings of the Elves.

After they had each retired to their respective quarters, and for a very long time, Samwise stood before a full-length mirror at one end of his room. His unnaturally youthful appearance somehow did not seem so out of place in such timeless surroundings. More than ever, he wished he could have finally convinced Rosie to leave the Shire and visit such a place. He thought about their long life together. He thought about Frodo and their Great Quest. And he thought about the One Ring.

It had been in his keeping only briefly. And even at that, he had experienced its hold when it came time to return it to the assigned Ring Bearer. More than he would ever have admitted to his friends, it came unbidden into his dreams across the years. For a long time he had thought those occasional night sweats to be a very small price to pay for the victory that had been achieved. As the years had become decades, however, he finally began to wonder if his dreams could actually be premonitions of some, as yet, unfinished destiny. Knowing that such a terrible power could be summoned again, he found his old misgivings awakening anew. After so much time had passed, it seemed impossible that it could reassert itself. But already, the One Ring was ever in his mind again. And the further east they traveled, the worse it got.

He considered the possibility of discussing this with Radagast. Now that their Brown Wizard had turned Green, his abilities had surely been augmented. But even Gandalf the Grey had only been able to serve as a guide for the Fellowship. The Burden had always resided with the Ring Bearer. And even Saruman the White had been unable to contend with its hungering power. At length he finally concluded that it was unwise to possibly worry his friends, and their guide certainly already had trouble enough with which to deal. Taking comfort in the healing atmosphere of Rivendell, he climbed into the bed and quickly fell into a restful, dreamless sleep.

It was however more than just the lingering presence of the Elves that ministered to him. It was from the very bed in which he lay that Gil-galad had arisen and ridden forth with Lord Elrond into combat in Mordor. Originally he was known as Ereinion, before coming to be called only by his surname, which meant Star of Radiance. He was the son of Fingon, and last High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth. He rode with Elrond and Elendil, the father of Isildur, in the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. And he fell there beside the King of Gondor, both being slain by Sauron. Even now, he yet dwells in the Halls of Mandos in Valinor. And by the grace of the Valar, unbeknownst to anyone else in the household except perhaps Radagast, his presence gave comfort to the Ring Bearer that night.

They broke fast the next morning before a virtual feast. The Hall of Fire was no longer used as a place for telling tales and singing songs but had been transformed into a banquet hall for the occasional royal guest. Lighting had been added and some of the artwork from the main house transferred into its confines. Most notable were portraits of some of the previous inhabitants. The hobbits gazed upon them, as they filled their bellies. Two in particular caught the eye of Samwise. In one there was a woman, an Elf princess by the look of her, standing beside Lord Elrond. Another depicted her alone as she stood upon a pier at the Grey Havens, apparently awaiting a ship that seemed to be approaching. In both she bore a striking resemblance to both Galadriel and Arwen.

"She is Celebrian," Radagast replied when asked, "She is the daughter of Galadriel and the mother of Arwen. She is the wife of Lord Elrond, to whom she has now been rejoined."

"Galadriel is Arwen's grandmother?" demanded Pippin incredulously, always intrigued by the intricacies of familial relationships. "Why are we just finding out about this? And why didn't we get to meet her when we were here before?"

Radagast patiently replied, "Long ago, while taking a journey across the Redhorn Gate to visit her family in Lothlorien, her party was waylaid by Orcs and she was taken captive. Their two sons, Elledan and Elrohir, rescued her. But she had been tortured and inflicted with a poisoned wound. They brought her back here to Rivendell, which is also called Imladris by the High Elves. Lord Elrond was finally able to heal her body, but the mending of her spirit could not be accomplished in Middle-earth. She had to return to the Undying Lands. There, she has now been reunited with all her family; except, of course, Arwen, who is also the granddaughter of Earendil on Elrond's side."

"The Redhorn Gate?" asked Pippin with obvious trepidation. "Isn't that where we're going?"

"There have been no Orcs west of the Anduin for decades," the Wizard curtly informed him. "And we are crossing the Misty Mountains by means of the High Pass."

Looking quickly to Arador, as if seeking confirmation from one of his comrades in the service of Gondor, Pippin asked, "Is that right? Shouldn't we maybe take another route?"

The Captain of the Guard turned to Radagast, as he said, "The High Pass is not open at this time of year."

"Are your people not also charged with maintaining the late summer gardens along the High Pass?" the Wizard asked. "Surely you have not neglected your duties."

"We have neglected nothing," he quickly replied, evidencing a flash of anger in his sea-gray eyes, before finally concluding, "my lord."

"Then we shall cross the Misty Mountains by way of the High Pass," Radagast reaffirmed to him. "It will be open for us. We'll take the ponies with us. And a horse will need to be requisitioned for the Keeper. He will ride with me. Three such mounts should be able to easily bear both our supplies and us. We will leave the cart behind. We may have to trade our animals for a boat however when we reach the river. And we should leave as soon as possible. We will need the sunlight."

"My lord, we're expecting snow in the upper elevations today," Arador quietly informed them. But when Radagast answered him with nothing but stoic silence, he finished by saying, "I'll make sure everything is ready for you. Thunderclap, a horse of linage mixed with the Mearas, knows the secret way up to the High Pass. Having him in the lead will easily shave days off your journey. And your draft ponies look to be sturdy animals; they should be able to keep up."

With their bellies full and their nerves now totally on edge, the hobbits quickly repacked their overnight items and prepared to depart. They were forcefully reminded of how eventful had been the last journey upon which they embarked by leaving Rivendell. It was far from a comforting thought. Riding across the picturesque bridge, which seemed to separate the Elven village from the normal flow of time, Samwise remembered Radagast describing something as the footsteps of doom. He wondered how any departure from Imladris could possibly be regarded as anything else.

Almost immediately, their chosen way began climbing up into the Misty Mountains. The lofty peaks, in all of their pristine glory, were clearly visible far ahead and far above them. They looked like the very definition of unattainable summits. And the Fellowship had been defeated in their efforts to cross a mountain pass before, although Saruman of Many Colors had certainly played no small part in their difficulty. But to Sam, it seemed almost pretentious for this Wizard to believe that he would succeed where Gandalf had failed. It was clearly snow clouds that were beginning to encircle the glittering crowns of the immediate mountains. The snow banks extended much further down their prodigious shoulders than when the previous expedition had been driven back. And the glare was intensely distractive.

The very air seemed to freeze and stick to the winter fur of their mounts as they pushed up the barely discernable path. The bitter breeze quickly blew away the highly visible clouds of vapor, which were issuing forth from the nostrils of the three animals. And the snow sounded as if it were brittle as it crunched beneath the hesitant hooves. Surefooted as he knew the steeds to be, it was distressingly evident that even they were fighting to find their way through the swirling snow. But they finally drew up to the place where the road leveled off and began to stretch across the winding pass; except, there was no pass.

A blanket of snow, as tall as a Cave Troll, obscured any evidence of where the meandering trail actually lay. Sam thought it should be hugging the shoulder of the mountain. But even if they could locate it, it would still be impassible. A suicidal plunge waited to greet any misstep. And the mounts looked as terrified by the prospect as did his Halfling companions. He turned to Radagast, but the Wizard had gotten down from his horse. He thrust his budding Staff into the nearest snow bank as he put his flute to his mouth. After blowing forth an eerie melody, he began to sing:

_**Song of the High Pass**_

(_The First Refrain of Radagast the Green_)

Feel now the call of spring

Wake to the song I sing

Push through the fallen snow

Rise up and grow

Reach up and intertwine

Open a hall of vine

Shelter us on our way

Do as I say

Hear and obey

With the first note from the Wizard's mouth, the hobbits all believed they were hearing some trick of the mountain's echo. There were two distinct voices. But there was no delay between the sounds. And they were not only concurrent with each other; they actually harmonized. After a few phrases, they suddenly realized that Radagast was, incredibly, singing in stereo. And as startling as that was, his lute also seemed to be accompanying him; despite the fact that he appeared only to be holding it in position against the wind, restraining it with but a single hand. And yet, even as overwhelming as these auditory events were, the visual result was far more awe-inspiring.

Almost immediately, tendrils of impossible green growth began to push up through the snow banks, shoving them out of the way. Not only was the location of the path exposed, but the vines also began to interlace above it, forming a canopy that prevented the fresh snowfall from overlaying it again. It reminded Sam of the intertwining branches in some of the Elven artwork at Rivendell. And they finally crossed the High Pass by riding through a tunnel of intricately interwoven growth. Not even the wind was able to accost them. Their main problem was keeping the animals from stopping to graze.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Five: The Coming of the King**

While still known to his compatriots as Aragorn, High King Elessar had faced a host of Orcs and a Cave Troll in Moria, where he had watched Gandalf fall in battle with a Balrog. He had then witnessed the death of Boromir while meeting a host of Uruk-hai in combat as the Fellowship of the Ring dissolved around him. After pursuing the same company, in an attempt to rescue Merry and Pippin, he had learned that Gandalf had returned and that the White Wizard had entrusted the hobbits to the keeping of the Ents. Shortly thereafter, he had faced thousands of Saruman's spawn at the Battle of Helm's Deep. And then, during the Muster of Rohan, he had taken the terrible chance of summoning the Shadow Host; and with that army, he had fought the forces of Mordor before the walls of Minas Tirith and bested them. But soon afterwards, he had been forced to lead all that remained of the armies of Gondor and Rohan, in what could easily have become a suicide mission, against the Black Gate; and due to the simultaneous unmaking of the One Ring, he and his company, instead of being totally decimated, had witnessed the utter defeat of Sauron.

These legendary events had all transpired within a matter of weeks, but nearly half a century had passed since those often fateful and finally fortuitous happenings had unfolded. Elessar often thought about riding forth again with the Armies of Gondor in a final act of glory, but not to the unlikely destination of Nimrodel. His intention had been to ride against Mirkwood. It was to such a darkling destination that the forces of Mordor had fled. Dol Guldur at it southwestern edge, though initially destroyed by Celeborn and Galadriel, had once been the stronghold of Sauron. Since the Dwarves, who once lived near there, had all relocated to Moria, and the Elves had left Middle-earth, there was no one left to drive them out. Mirkwood had become the last refuge for the forces of Darkness. And Elessar wanted to be rid of them.

The High King maintained a sizable garrison at Rhosgobel to defend the Old Ford. He feared that the Orcs might eventually find the courage to cross the River Anduin and attack Rivendell by using the High Pass. His hope had been to launch a simultaneous, preemptive attack against the Orcs from both the south and the west. That now would apparently have to wait.

He consoled himself with the fact that he would share much of the journey with the Lady of Rohan. Since Princess Laurelin, his daughter, was the wife of Eowyn's son, Thengel, they were now related by marriage. He and Queen Arwen dearly loved both the Stewards. But the distance to Isengard was considerable, and the affairs of the Kingdom kept them close to the capital. So, aside from their infrequent conversations through the Palantir, there had been little in the way of direct interaction for quite some time; in fact, none since the wedding. And he was very anxious to amend this oversight.

But he was even more anxious to prove that the valor of Numenor had not vanished into the West along with the Elder Race. During the War of the Ring, he had fully expected to enter into direct combat with Sauron, as had Isildur, and succeed where his ancestor had failed. But it had not taken place. He had only watched the Eye of Sauron disintegrate from the Black Gate. But the Blade That Was Broken and then remade into Anduril, the Flame of the West, was not put to the test against the lieutenant of Morgoth.

It was as if neither he nor his magically restored heirloom had ultimately fulfilled their destiny. And he believed the time was now finally at hand.

While it was true that the counsel of Gandalf had played no small part in the Enemy's defeat, it was also true that a tiny hobbit, not the Wizard himself, had finally dealt the lethal blow. Another of the Halflings had also rendered the Lord of the Ring Wraiths vulnerable to the fatal thrust of Eowyn. It had not been the White Rider, as everyone fully expected, who ultimately brought the Witch King of Angmar to his end. In retrospect, it seemed to Elessar that the Istari had really been useless emissaries of the Powers of the West. Saruman had betrayed them. Radagast had done nothing. And Gandalf, while his counsel had been effective, had not destroyed the One Ring or even slain the Enemy's most powerful servant. In fact, it had been the combined races of Middle-earth, almost totally without aid, which had defeated the Dark Lord and his armies. And this realization dominated the mind of the High King.

Even though broken, Narsil had dealt a mortal wound to the Lord of the Rings, rendering him helplessly formless for thousands of years. It therefore did not seem unreasonable to believe the Blade That Was Remade could also send a Balrog back to the Abyss, especially if wielded by the High King of Gondor. The blood of both the Eldar and the Maiar, although perhaps diminished by generations of intermingling with the race of Men, flowed in his veins. He was directly descended from Earendil. And the Blessed Mariner had slain the most powerful of all the Dragons, Ancalagon the Black.

The Elves called the Fourth Age the Time of Men. Elessar believed it was time to prove them right. He believed Radagast had only been allowed to remain in order to taunt the High King into doing what obviously needed to be done. It was Lord Elrond, not Gandalf the Grey, who had ultimately told the council what was required. And Frodo had volunteered. He had not been appointed by one of the Istari. Elrond, whose counsel that day had sealed the doom of the Dark Lord, was one of the two sons of Earendil. Elessar was descended from the other, Elros. He thought he knew what needed to be done. And he believed the time had come for him to volunteer and take the terrible chance of inflicting the decisive blow to yet another servant of Morgoth. And unlike Frodo, he had even been given the ultimate weapon for the purpose.

Frodo had only the weapon of the Enemy, which was beyond anyone's ability to use. Elessar had the very means by which Sauron had originally been relieved of that insidious instrumentality. He also believed it was possible that, through the objectivity of being of the Race of Men, he even had discovered the origin of the race to which the Ring Bearers belonged.

As a youth, one of the first things that Aragorn had noticed about the Elves was their lack of speculation. It was not just that they seemed to live mostly in the past. And for Elves like the Lady Galadriel, who was born in the Blessed Realm and later made the crossing to Middle-earth, such a past was unbelievably expansive. But they seemed to care not for unanswerable questions. It pleased them not, as it did young Aragorn, to theorize about things that were not understood.

They loved their history. Sometimes it seemed as if they loved the past more than even their own lives. But the things that were outside that history, or had passed beyond the bounds of their knowledge, were treated as irrelevant. Galadriel was distantly related to the sons of Feanor. She had come over with the Noldor, joining in their attempt to retrieve the Silmarils from Morgoth. But she could not tell Aragorn if Maglor, one of the two brothers who stole two Silmarils from the Valar after the fall of Angband, yet lived. She would only say that his part in the tale had ended. Young Aragorn could hardly be satisfied with such pronouncements.

There were other things that were beyond their lore. As the heir of Isildur and the Men of the West, Aragorn had extensively studied the history of Middle-earth and its races. He knew all about the origins of the Firstborn, the Elves, and the Followers, Men. He knew that a Vala, named Aule, had created the Dwarves. He knew about the Valar and the Maiar. And he knew that Werewolves and Trolls and Dragons were creatures that Morgoth had taken and twisted to his evil designs. He knew that the Orcs were derived from Elves, who had been captured by the Great Enemy. But no record at all existed of the origin of the Halflings, which the Elves called Periannath. He thought it strange that the Elves would have a word for a race that was beyond their explanation. Nor would any of them offer him conjectures when he asked where the hobbits had come from.

Knowing that he might one day be called upon to unite all the races of Middle-earth against Sauron, Aragorn had never spoken to anyone about the conclusion to which his research seemed to inescapably lead. Those who have come in contact with icons of great power are often drawn together. Elessar did not need to know how this process actually worked in order to see examples of it, one of the most contemporary being Gollum and Frodo. He believed that Maglor had actually remained in Middle-earth and, forever forsaking his own people, became joined to one of the widows of Sarn Athrad. The fact that they had both once been in the possession of a Silmaril could have easily brought them together. But he was an Elf, who was trying to escape his birthright. And she would have been a Dwarf. It was easy to see why such a union would have been kept secret and any rumor of it dismissed out of hand.

It would have made sense for the descendants of such a pairing to form a rather reclusive community in an isolated part of Middle-earth. And the Shire was very strategically positioned in such a way. It was not very far from the sea. And that would have been of importance to Maglor. But it was far from the prying eyes of Dwarves, Elves, and Men. And after Aragorn once began to consider such a speculation, which to Elves and Dwarves would surely have been an obviously unpalatable possibility, he had almost immediately realized that the physical appearance of the Periannath could also be easily explained by such a heritage.

The attributes of the Eldar could readily be expected to ascend. And in their faces and their ears, the hobbits looked most like members of the Elder Race. Their deep appreciation of stories and songs was also highly suspect. It exceeded that of any other race in Middle-earth; except, of course, the Elves. And their love for poetry that changed meter in the midst of the rhyme was also exclusively Elven. The characteristics that they had retained from their Dwarvish heritage could easily be expected to descend towards the earth. And the first time Aragorn had caught sight of a Dwarf without footwear, he felt that his belief was fully vindicated. No creature in Middle-earth had feet anything like that of a Halfling, except the Dwarves. They were much closer in stature to the hobbits than any other race. And the hobbits had also retained a fondness for living underground.

He had never voiced his suspicion aloud to anyone, nor did he think that he ever would. But he believed that he understood the source of the Ring Bearer's resilience. Despite the Seven Rings with which the Dark Lord attempted to ensnare them, the Dwarves had proved untamable. Sauron could not even understand them, let alone turn them to darkness. Elessar strongly suspected that Frodo's ability to resist the temptation of the One Ring, right up until he stood before the Crack of Doom, was an inherited strength. And he believed that same strength had been present in Bilbo; who beyond all belief had voluntarily given the Ring into the possession of another, as Sam had also done later. To him, almost more than anything else, this uncanny ability of the hobbits spoke of a most unlikely heritage.

But being a descendant of the Elves, as well, may also have aiding the Ring Bearer. Frodo had told Elessar all about the final events of his quest, including those that happened as he was just entering Mordor. Even as a youth, Aragorn had known about the terror of Cirith Ungol where Shelob, the last child of Ungoliant, the evil Maia who had aided Morgoth in the murder of the Two Trees of Valinor, had made her lair. Frodo told him about the unknown Elven words that had suddenly burst from his heart and mouth, evoking the Light Divine from the Phial of Galadriel, dispelling the darkness, and making it possible for him to wield Sting. Had it not been so, he would most surely have perished there in her den and would not have even survived long enough to be rescued by Sam.

Frodo had expressed being perplexed by the source of that magical incantation, but Elessar was no longer. Maglor was one of the sons of Feanor. And it was by the skillful hands of Feanor that the Three Silmarils were wrought, within which he also captured Light from the Two Trees of Valinor. It was the same Light that Galadriel, also one of the Noldor, had infused into the Phial that she gave to Frodo. For the Light of Earendil is a Silmaril. The ability to use such an invocation in a desperate situation had to be an inherited characteristic, derived from the most ancient of the Children of Iluvatar.

Even in the Fourth Age, the Life of the Eldar would still sometimes assert itself in the children of the Numenoreans. As a youth, Aragorn had even experienced it himself while being schooled in Rivendell. He absentmindedly answered a question that had been phrased in Quenya, an ancient tongue of the Elves, and one that his teachers were well aware he had never been taught. They had explained that, being a descendant of Earendil, the lore of the Elves of the Blessed Realm would sometimes bubble to the surface, breaking forth as insight or art or language. He knew from what source the Ring Bearer had spoken. It was the same one to which he and his cousin sporadically demonstrated access, also by virtue of their mixed linage.

As Aragorn, Elessar had been privy to many of the counsels of the Wise; yet, he had never heard anything to indicate that they so much as suspected the origin of the hobbits. Such insights led him to believe that he alone had also seen the path by which their current dilemma could be dispelled. It was by a blending of races that Earendil was able to bring about the final destruction of Morgoth. It was by a blending of races that the Ring Bearer had finally been able to bring about the destruction of Sauron. And High King Elessar saw himself as the final answer to the threat of Nargurth.

Elessar left his foot soldiers behind, for the sake of speed, and led the Cavalry of Gondor out upon the Great West Road. With Mount Mindolluin behind them, they passed the Grey Wood on their left and then rode around the still smoldering summit of Amon Din. As the Great Road turned westward, skirting the northern edge of Druadan Forest, they left it, setting a course northwest to bring them around Wetwang and to the Mouths of the Entwash. Knowing that several sources of fresh water lay between them and the border of Rohan, they rode their mounts very hard. However, the High King was elated to have Legolas, who alone of all the Elves had remained in Middle-earth, riding at his side again. It reminded him of times that were now decades in the past.

By late afternoon, they were passing through Anorien. The Mering Stream was still far to the east, but they reached the first of the great rivulets comprising the interface between the Entwash and the Anduin. This was the area where they expected to encounter Eowyn. At the command of the High King, the scouts were all keeping watchful eyes towards the western horizon. Borne aloft by the seemingly spectral swiftness of Arabel, she appeared to virtually float into their view. The ranks parted as she made her approach, enabling her to ride up alongside the royal entourage.

"Greetings, High King Elessar!" she hailed him as she moved to parallel his course. She then softened her voice to continue, as she drew close, "It is a fell thing that brings our paths together. But this shield-maiden would join herself to your company if you would graciously permit it."

"You are well met in any circumstance, my Lady of Rohan!" chuckled the High King in reply. He seemed in unusually good spirits, considering the nature of their mission, as he continued, "I accept your valiant contribution. Gondor has not forgotten your deeds on the Pelennor fields!"

"It is a much swifter mount that carries me to this confrontation," she bragged ostentatiously. "Let us hope it is to equally good fortune and without the associated cost, for the sword I wielded on that fateful day has already been unsheathed in this battle. My brother carries Gurthang."

"A veritable arsenal is gathered against the Fire Demon," High King Elessar observed, "even without the Wizard and his Weapon. The coming and goings of the Istari have ever been beyond the comprehension of mortals. They alone seem to understand their unfathomable schedules. But Radagast may find that he comes to this battle too late and that the Powers of the West need no longer rescue the peoples of Middle-earth. The Time of Men is at hand. Let us show them that we have come of age."

Eowyn had studied the lore of Gondor extensively. She knew all too well of the distrust that Sauron had sewed between the Numenoreans and the Powers of the West. To hear it echoed in the speech of the High King grieved her greatly. But she masked her uneasiness by flashing him a fey smile. She did not know how deeply he had been troubled or for how long. She believed however that she saw her sentiment also in the Elven eyes of Legolas.

For years now, Mount Doom had plagued the High King's dreams. Like Samwise, he had been content to pay such a price for their victory if such was the requirement. But after a time, he spoke of it to Arwen. He was concerned that some part of Sauron might have survived. She assured him that if anything actually remained of that evil awareness, it existed in a perpetual hell from which it could never hope to deliver itself. It had never occurred to him before to think that some other force might try to accomplish such a revivification until he heard the news of Nargurth. Even the foresightedness of High Queen Arwen, the granddaughter of Earendil, had not enabled her to correctly discern his dreams or the true danger of which they were the indication. To him, this was just further confirmation that the Time of the Elves was ended and that only by the Strength of Men could they hope to achieve a final victory over the Shadow.

In all of these things, however, he did not stop to consider that the first weapon of the Enemy against every human opponent had always been deception. And the fact that the Darkness could still touch his mind with such disturbing dreams should have given High King Elessar pause. After having spent most of his youth fearing that he would one day mirror the weakness of Isildur at the critical moment, he was utterly unaware of just how close to that abyss he had finally allowed himself to stray.

Throughout the late afternoon and evening, they kept the Anduin close on their right side. By the light of dawn, their intent was to turn more to the west and cross the various fords separating them from the border of Rohan. High King Elessar hoped to pass just to the southwest of Amon Hen as they entered East Emnet and swept northward into the Wold. They rode until well after sunset. When they encountered the next part of the multi-fingered waterway, rather than attempt a crossing in the darkness, they stopped for the night.

Having left his Palantir in Minas Tirith for High Queen Arwen to use, Elessar asked Eowyn to produce hers. But neither the Steward nor Gimli seemed anxious to communicate with the High King. He ended up speaking with King Eomer who, despite his legendary dislike of the device, finally gave him the dreadful report. The sound of sobbing could be faintly heard, coming through the enchanted orb, at the end of Eomer's briefing. Elessar understood that Arwen had overhead their exchange and was mourning the loss of her grandmother's domain. Not even High Queen Arwen had anticipated the possibility of such a tragic disaster. The High King's ire was evident in the brevity with which he spoke.

"Summon Treebeard and give him your Palantir," he said curtly. He then paused, mastering his emotions, and explained. "Since yours is much closer to the action, I'll be able to use the Steward's to magnify the view through it. In this way, I may be able to discern the exact position of the Enemy. I may even be able to determine his direction. Have Treebeard hold it as high as he can."

The face of the Shepherd of the Forest briefly filled the glowing globe as Treebeard took the Palantir from the King of Rohan. The view first changed angles and then rose to a great height.

Eowyn was looking over the High King's shoulder as Elessar bent the Seeing Stone to his will. She could see the trail of fire that led almost directly to the northeast side of Lothlorien. The Balrog seemed to have been concentrating on getting as far away from the attackers as possible. Curiously, it did not seem as if much of the forest along that flaming path had been burned.

The Balrog had apparently crossed the River Nimrodel without much difficulty. Upon encountering the Great River, however, Nargurth had found that the mighty Anduin was a far more formidable natural boundary. Unable to go that way, he had turned around and was moving in a zigzag pattern as he came back across Lothlorien. He was slashing and burning as he went. The tress of the Enchanted Woodland seemed hard to ignite, but they burned with an exaggerated intensity once they finally burst into flame. And the force of that fearsome fire was being drawn into the Balrog's fell form.

"By the time he emerges from the forest, he will be totally healed of all his wounds," said Elessar to the darkness. "He will be full of the power of the decimated woods. He is absorbing the last energy of the Elves."

"Fortunately for us, however, you will be here by then," replied King Eomer gravely as Treebeard passed the Palantir back to him. The King of Rohan did not phrase it as a question.

"You can count on that!" Elessar exclaimed as he abruptly broke the contact. Turning to his troops, he yelled, "Mount up! We'll follow the waterway westward! We will not stop until dawn and then we will rest only until noon. But by nightfall, we will need to have crossed all of the remaining waterways and be in the fair country of Rohan!"

Almost without exception, the troops had started their break with the taking of food. Most of them were therefore prepared to get underway again almost immediately. And the chill air of the spring night kept both man and beast from overheating as a result of the prolonged exertion. It was to their credit that they so quickly complied with the High King's unexpected command. And Arabel did not seem to mind either. Eowyn fell in behind Elessar and Legolas as their eyes found the way through the darkness. She sensed her mare's desire to challenge Nimloth, the stallion of the High King, for the lead. But she carefully restrained her mount.

Eowyn had come to the Cavalry well rested, but the incessant sound of water was starting to make her nod by the time the sun began to creep over the eastern horizon and the signal to rest was finally given. Though doubtlessly all valiant in combat, the troops were visibly relieved. The High King looked around and sniffed the air before turning to the Lady of Rohan.

"I know this place," he said. "If we ride almost directly north from here at noon, we should be able to cross the remaining waterways just before dark. We'll be just within earshot of Rauros by then, and we should pass around the shoulders of Amon Hen by the end of the following day. If we are to reach your brother before Nargurth emerges, we'll have to keep up with the short rest breaks and prolonged traveling. I'm not as concerned about the strength of my forces as I am about their timely presence."

"Then you should rest, my liege, if you can," she said gently. "Put aside the unwelcome news and the thoughts of combat and take comfort in the gentle sounds of the waters that border your lands."

"You give good counsel, my Lady the Steward," Elessar replied tiredly. "And I shall take it."

After his conversation with Eomer, Elessar had retained possession of the Seeing Stone. It was clear to Eowyn that the High King exercised far great control over the divining device that did she, so she was happy to relinquish it. It was only through the benevolence of the royal couple that she and Faramir had it to begin with. Elessar used it once more before retiring, this time to contact Radagast for an update on his position and the welfare of the hobbits.

The jostling image revealed that they were no longer riding in the cart. And the snowdrifts in the background were clear indication of their whereabouts. Since the Wizard was controlling their mount, Pippin was the one who answered Elessar's inquiry.

"Radagast, where are you?" the High King asked.

"Hi Aragorn! We slept in Rivendell the other night!" Pippin replied cheerfully. "We've just made our way over the High Pass. We're headed down the eastern slope now. We hope to reach the plains by nightfall, but the Old Ford is probably another day away. How are you?"

"You've just crossed over the High Pass, at this time of year?" echoed Elessar incredulously. He did not wait for the Keeper to reply before continuing, "This isn't really a social call, Pippin. I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Our friends in Nimrodel succeeded in turning the Balrog back. But Nargurth turned and outraced them going northwards. Lothlorien is aflame. There's nowhere for him to cross the Anduin, so he's turned around and is coming back southward, burning as he goes. Eowyn is with me now and we're trying to reach Lothlorien before he emerges. He'll be far more powerful now. Tell Radagast what's happened. We rode all night, so we're planning to rest until noon and then press on again until just after nightfall. But I have the Palantir with me, so you can reach me if you need to."

"I'm sorry Aragorn. I know Arwen's mother came from there," said the Keeper consolingly. In an attempt to quickly change the subject and end the conversation on a positive note, Pippin said, "Hey, we met your cousin Arador in Rivendell. He's really nice. And he also seemed like a very capable captain."

Pippin did not know that the topic of his discussion was actually following the party at some distance, anxious to yield a service beyond that of curator and able to hear what was being said as the breezes carried the voices back across the mountain pass.

"Yes, and we're close," Elessar volunteered. "It pained me to have to send him so far away. But I knew I could trust him with such a valued heirloom. And I knew he would defend Rivendell to the death if ever the Orcs were to somehow overmaster the forces at Rhosgobel. A garrison of my finest troops guards the Old Ford. And they'll give you a boat and supplies. Farewell for now, my good friend. I hope to see you again in happier circumstances."

"Good day, your highness," Pippin remembered to properly respond as the High King broke the connection.

For the Cavalry of Gondor, the next few days blurred into a seemingly endless succession of traveling during any hour of the day and usually with far too little rest. There was no real rhythm to their breaks, and the effectiveness of those infrequent interruptions was thereby diminished. The weather was the only thing that seemed to work in their favor. Spring was often a wet season on the sprawling plains of Rohan. But it was abnormally hot and dry. And as they looked at the tower of smoke rising in the distance to the north, they wondered if the conflagration of Lothlorien was somehow having an impact on the weather.

Eowyn's journey to Halifirien had taken approximately a week, total. But the night she spent at Edoras had broken it up right in the middle. Consequently, she and Arabel had endured the frantic pace; not so with their current errand. And the knowledge that they were rushing into danger, she believed, was also sapping the strength of the troops, as it was her own. She feared for Faramir and Eomer, her husband and her bother. And she also feared for Gimli and his Dwarves and the contingent of the King's Guard, all of whom she knew by name. She did not know the Ents. But she understood that one had already made the ultimate sacrifice. And she had seen how pained the High King was to learn of this. It suddenly seemed to her that growing things had borne the brunt of the Balrog's attack thus far. She wondered who would defend them if Treebeard fell.

Whenever they did stop, Elessar would consult the Palantir. Legolas was always at his side as he did so. The Balrog seemed to be in no hurry to abandon the flaming forest but was methodically burning it entirely. And Radagast and the hobbits had run into a delay. A terrible storm had come out of the north, such as had not been seen since the days of the Witch King of Angmar. Radagast told them he suspected that both of the major upper tributaries of the Anduin, the River Langwell and the River Rhimdoth, had risen above their flood stages. And the deluge had turned into ice. The winter blast made it impossible to launch a boat into the hoary river. The parts that were not frozen fast had become dangerously white water, full of the refuse that was being brought down from the battered north. Word had come to the Old Ford that Carrock was fully submerged. Everyone had been forced to flee to Rhosgobel and wait for the weather to break. But, thought Elessar, at least they were safe.

As they raced northward, the pillar of smoke continued to ascend, drawing ever nearer. The Palantir revealed that Nargurth was now dangerously close to the southern edge of Lothlorien. And it was beginning to look as if their frantic pace had not been sufficient. High King Elessar cautioned the defenders at Nimrodel not to underestimate the fierceness of their foe. The Balrog would now be reenergized by the conflagration of the Enchanted Woods and much more dangerous than the wounded opponent they had cowed before. And Elessar knew that Nargurth would be looking to settle the score. Revenge had ever been a driving force for the servants of Darkness. The Balrog would be on the offensive this time, and the Cavalry of Gondor was still half a day away.

As devastating as it had been to learn of the fall of Lothlorien, Elessar now wished there was a way to keep the Balrog from abandoning his conquest too quickly. But he could think of no way to keep the Flame of Udun bottled up in the inferno that had once been the Enchanted Woods. He had to hope that his friends would be able to fall back from before the firestorm without any further loss of life.

Faramir used the Palantir to report that the Balrog was now moving back and forth along the rim of the forest. Although they could not actually see him through the blaze, the Great Eagles, as they circled overhead, were giving away his position. Faramir believed the Balrog to be preparing for a surprise exit, making sure the defenders could not determine his exact location. The King's Guard, the Rohirrim, the Ents, and the Dwarves were strewn across the prairie just to the south of the forest. They were trying to make certain that Nargurth was not able to just rush around them uncontested. But it was not the kind formation that would lend itself to an organized defense. The Steward promised to exercise extreme caution in engaging the Enemy but advised the High King that any attempt at a defense would, of necessity, put some portion of their forces in harm's way. He then asked to speak with Eowyn.

When the Lady of Rohan handed the Seeing Stone back to Elessar, she had the disposition of a widow. The High King desperately wanted to reassure her but could not find the right words. Even his presence on the battlefield was not sufficient to guarantee the safety of those for whom they cared. He had come too late to save her uncle, King Theoden. And unbidden images of the death of Boromir now also filled his mind. It seemed likely that the next report they heard would be after the battle, outlining its aftermath. He commanded the Cavalry of Gondor to stop and pray for the safety of those who were about to participate in that conflict. He now understood that they were too late to do anything else.

Moments passed. The wind sighed over the grass as he lifted up his friends and comrades to the protection of the Creator. But there was a sound borne upon that wind, and he realized with heaviness of heart that it was the weeping of Eowyn. Marshalling his fortitude, he turned to her.

"Fear not, it is but a single foe with whom they contend," he said. "Its intent is upon passage to Mordor. It cannot afford to delay and let us gather more force against it. It surely knows by now that we are aware of its purpose. They will suffer it to pass through their line with little incident."

"I grieve for my husband, my king," she responded brokenly. "But it's not because I fear for his life. I cannot bear to think of him being left alone. I've had a dream. I know it is I who will fall in this battle today."

"Then you shall not go!" Elessar exclaimed. His voice was so forceful that most of the troops turned to discover the cause of his outburst. Kneeling to pray near at hand, Legolas was also obviously alarmed by her announcement.

The measuring look that she gave Elessar at that moment reminded him of High Queen Arwen, as she resolutely replied, "I most certainly shall, my liege. High King of Gondor and heir of the noble Numenoreans you surely are. But even you have no power to alter the destiny of the Children of Iluvatar. I cannot as much as listen to such counsel. You will suffer me to meet my fate. It is the life of my husband that is in your hands."

Elessar was well aware that he would be unable to deter her. Not even her uncle had been able to keep her from entering into a battle in which every contestant fully expected to die. And it was her determination that had finally led to the utter defeat of the Lord of the Ring Wraiths and her resulting fame. For one whose linage was notably devoid of any connection whatsoever to the Elder Race, Fate seemed to have singled her out in a highly unusual way for one of the Edain. It was a thing that puzzled Arwen as much as it did her husband, for they had spoken of it. And his insight insisted that he not set his will against that of the Lady of Rohan. Touching his hand to his head, he nodded and then turned away to lead his mounted troops across the final leg of the journey to their fiery encounter.

"Ride now!" he cried as he went. "Ride now for Gondor and Rohan!"

Eowyn distractedly allowed Arabel to follow the High King's command. For her part, she was still deeply puzzled by many of the elements of her dream. She had seen images of the Steward and the High King doing battle with a mountain of fire, and she was not present during any part of that conflict. Nor, she knew, would she have suffered her husband to engage in such dangerous combat without his shield maiden at his side. And there was another part of the dream that really seemed to have no other possible interpretation except that of her demise. In that vision, she had been running through an encircling firestorm. She had in fact already been robbed of her vision. But she could tell from the terrifying sounds of the inferno roaring all around her that she was in a collapsing pocket. And as she lost her footing and her consciousness in mid stride, fainting from exhaustion and smoke inhalation, she had known that she was falling to her death. There was no doubt in her mind.

The images however were not as perplexing as some of the impressions and feelings that she had experienced in association with the dream. There was death, of that she was quite sure. But there was also an unaccountable sense of hope, even renewal. And there had been a figure. She had not been able to clearly discern the visage, but a sense of irrepressible power emanated from that form. Although she could not put the perception into any meaningful context, it had made her feel like springtime. Impossibly, although she was certain that she was about to die, she had felt as if it related to her future. But what disturbed her most was that there had not been one single image of her and Faramir together. She feared that she might already have seen him for the last time, for the Palantir was riding into combat ahead of her in the possession of the High King.

With the River Limlight now behind them, the final leagues swept swiftly by. Rising and standing in her stirrups, she gazed intently ahead. There were things moving in the atmosphere before them and it was not the Great Eagles. These objects were aflame. And they did not fly like living things but arced through the air from north to south like projectiles, before emitting showers of sparks when they collided with the interceding prairie. And she could hear voices loudly raised. Commanders were issuing orders to their forces, trying desperately to be heard over the growing cacophony of airborne infernos and the bellowing roar of the creature that was launching them. The Balrog was far more horrible to behold than her worst imaginings had pictured.

Swathed in flame, the Enemy had issued forth from the flaming woodland. As he came, he was snapping off the outlying trees, igniting them, and hurling them at the scattering line of defenders before him. And the volley had not been without effect.

The largest and most flammable targets on the plain were the Shepherds of the Forest. The ability of the Ents to act as walking catapults also represented the greatest danger to the Balrog. They were therefore the focus of its extremely effective attack. And many of them were already aflame. She identified the one called Treebeard by his use of a huge war hammer to deflect the barrages that were being aimed at him. Blazing branches broke and scattered all around him as he used the massive weapon to intercept each incinerating salvo. Sparks were flying everywhere. And the conflagration of the carpet of grass, upon which he stood, was leaving him no choice but to back further and further away from the attacker.

The horsemen could not help. The Balrog was beyond the reach of their weapons. Even the maneuverability of their mounts was not a match for the range and accuracy of the attacker. And despite a demonstrated propensity for behavior to the contrary, the Dwarves were wisely running for their lives. They were well aware that Nargurth was now fully bent on avenging himself upon his adversaries. And they had correctly surmised that, if he could only catch them, he would dismember them with their own axes and cremate their torsos alive.

"Sound the Horn of Gondor! Blow with all your might! Perhaps this menace will wisely retreat into what's left of Lothlorien!" Elessar yelled to the heralds at hand. Turning toward the rest of the troops, he shouted, "Archers to the front! Prepare your longbows! You must outmatch his range! Deploy quickly and fire at will!"

The archers charged to the front of the line, dismounted as they stopped, and deployed their bows. Their fluidity would have pleased any commander. And even Eowyn was impressed by their horsemanship. In moments, the air was full of the sound of the whistling passage of their arrows. The defenders had harkened to the sound of the horns and cleared a path to the target. Nargurth was also aware of the arrival of Gondor, but it aided him not in evading that first volley.

The reports of the impacts could be heard across the substantial distance as the majority of the arrowheads rebounded from their target; some however did not, but stuck fast in the flaming form of Nargurth. The descendants of the Numenoreans were more skilled in metallurgy than the Men of Rohan. And some of the archers were intentionally aiming to the left or right of the Balrog in order to intercept him as he tried to maneuver. As the Fire Demon reeled before the aerial assault, the endangered defenders were able to withdraw. Most of the Ents however had succumbed to fury of the Flame of Udun.

In ripping up and using the outlying trees as flaming spears in order to incinerate the Ents, Nargurth had quickly depleted his immediate supply. Slinging his sword and whip, he grabbed up the remaining two and began using them to deflect the incoming barrage. It seemed momentarily as if he were on the verge of withdrawing into the inferno behind him. But he knew the forest fire would not burn forever and would offer him only a temporary haven. And the Cavalry of Gondor notwithstanding, he was not about to retreat. He had all but eliminated the Ents. The two trees in his grasp would help him to counter any further volleys. And if Treebeard got too close, he could ignite those enormous handheld weapons in order to also set fire to the remaining Shepherd of the Forest. The time had come for him to demonstrate his resolve. Bellowing like a blast furnace, he charged. It was enough to spook even the horses of Gondor and Rohan.

When Nargurth elected to use the two remaining outlying trees as shields, the effectiveness of the archers was greatly diminished. At such a distance, even Legolas could not be assured of successfully shooting between the swinging branches. And with their sortie now rendered far less effectual, they were forced to remount and attempt to flank their flaming foe. The sheer quantity of arrows, now blistering from the interposing trees in Nargurth's grasp, was actually increasing their efficiency as a defense. And the way the Balrog swung them nimbly around seemed to defy the laws of nature and maximize their intercessory value. Even the entire Cavalry of Gondor was unable to deter the Balrog's passage as he swept southward, seemingly uncontested. His flaming footprints further marred even more of what had once been the beauty of the Valley of Nimrodel, making it look much more like the devastation of Lothlorien. Indeed, the entire landscape now seemed violated.

"Move aside, young master Aragorn!" yelled Treebeard as the High King positioned himself directly in the path of the raging Ent. "He is very much faster now that he is full of flame! Do not delay me or I shall never catch up to him!"

"Stay your course, Tree Master!" Elessar yelled in reply. "If you catch him, he'll kill you too! I won't have all the Ents pass out of the world before my very eyes! Such an evil day would live in infamy forever! This fight now belongs to Gondor! Go and bury your dead, or perhaps you can plant some and mend them. I do not know your ways. But it is now time for you to go and tend to your fallen as best you may."

Treebeard turned a grief stricken glance back to the north before looking upon the weapon hanging uselessly in his hands and sorrowfully saying, "Precious little good have I done with this ancient artifact. What would you have me do with Grond?"

"If all else fails," Elessar replied quietly, "our last defense will be beyond the Anduin in Ithilien at Minas Ithil. You should take Grond there and wait. If Radagast fails us, you may yet be given a chance to avenge your kin. But if you fall here today, all the forests of Middle-earth will be without any shepherd."

"I know what the Enemy intends," Treebeard replied heavily. "And if he succeeds, there will not be any forests to need a shepherd. Perhaps your eyes do not have enough years yet to see such a truth. Go now and save Middle-earth if you can."

Anduril flew from its scabbard so quickly that blue flame flashed around its blade as Elessar drew it forth and cried, "_Aiya Earendil Elenion Ancalima_!"

Nimloth needed no other prompting, but surged forward like one of the Mearas. Sparks flew from beneath the stallion's hooves as they swept across the still-flaming footprints of the fiery foe. Had any of the ancient Eldar been there on that battlefield to make such a comparison, they might have said that his coming looked like that of High King Fingolfin as he rode to his encounter with Morgoth. Fey was the mood of Elessar, and fell was the glint of his Elf-wrought blade as he descended from the north like a grey-eyed storm. Even the Great Eagles were momentarily deceived into thinking that maybe one of the Great Elf Kings of Old had returned to Middle-earth to extinguish the Flame of Udun, for such was clearly his intent. And Legolas was hard-pressed to pursue.

Passing through his own mounted army like a lightning bolt through thunderclouds, Elessar rapidly closed the distance between himself and the object of his wrath. While the High King had been talking with Treebeard, Eowyn found an opportunity to join the company of her brother. Her husband saluted her as he fell in with the Cavalry of Gondor, noting the satisfaction in the eyes of Eomer as he made good his promise and returned Gurthang to his sister. For her part, Eowyn was overjoyed to look into the eyes of her husband again. But as he continued to ride southward with the troops, and she looked back northward to smile at Eomer, she suddenly noticed a horseman riding furiously around the ruin of Lothlorien.

He was riding alone and with desperate determination. And as she followed the man's sea-grey gaze, she abruptly understood the urgency of his errand. She did not know that the man was Elessar's cousin, Arador. But she could see that the High King was riding directly into great peril and with obviously steadfast intention.

Recalling her conversation with Gimli, she deeply regretted the lapse in her attention; for the critical moment, which they had feared would come, had gone by her unnoticed. But Arabel was the fastest horse on the field by far, perhaps in all of Middle-earth. If there were to be any chance of overtaking the High King's stallion, Nimloth, before he bore his rider to a fiery fate, it belonged to Eowyn and Arabel. Arador was still to the north of their position. Making her anxious exigency clear to her mount, she sent the mare hurtling after the reckless regent. Unbelievably, she swept right by the stallion of Legolas.

The Balrog was racing like a fireball across Nimrodel, preferring to expend his energy in the form of speed rather than combat. And he was quickly closing the distance between himself and the northeastern edge of Fangorn, beside which he meant to sweep. With the Cavalry now falling far behind him, there was no need for him to take a detour through the forest. But he continued to carry the two trees of Lothlorien. And this was impeding his progress somewhat, not allowing him to achieve his best speed. It was also making it possible for Elessar to overtake him.

Some perception outside of normal human experience alerted Nargurth to the approach of the High King. Flinging his captive lumber to the ground, he deployed the ceremonial weapons of his kind. Fire ran along the length of the blade as he used his right hand to slice sizzling circles in the air with his sword. With his left hand, he cracked the flaming whip, punctuating the completion of each searing circuit. But High King Elessar seemed altogether unimpressed by these dazzling displays of pyrotechnics. He slowed his advance none whatsoever.

As mentioned before: after Luthien saved Beren from the dungeons of Sauron, they dwelt for a time at the edge of Doriath before finally undertaking the fateful pilgrimage to Angband in order to contend with the Great Enemy for the possession of a Silmaril. It was there, on the outskirts of Doriath, that Celegorm and Curufin, two of the sons of Feanor, came upon them unawares. Beren would have fallen that day had it not been for an incredible feat of strength that permitted him to spring out of the way of the charging horse of Celegorm and land directly on the back of Curufin's speeding mount. It was from Curufin that Beren took Angrist, the knife with which he later cut the Silmaril from the Iron Crown of Morgoth. It was therefore with a device of the Noldor that it was freed. That mighty feat, by which he escaped death and became so armed, is renowned among both Elves and Men as the Leap of Beren.

Word of one of the Edain having performed such a superhuman deed had never come to the ears of Nargurth, so he could hardly have expected such behavior from High King Elessar. But as Nimloth closed the remaining distance, Beren's descendant replicated that distinguishing triumph. As if propelled by an unseen force, the attacking regent literally flew into the air from his stallion's back just as Nargurth responded to their proximity.

It was never the High King's intention to sacrifice his mount. But a single-minded fixation on the doing of violence often has unforeseen consequences. As he came to just within the range of the weapon, the lethal strike of the whip arrived only a moment after Elessar took to the air. Flying over the blow, he swung Anduril with all of his might. The Balrog had been preparing to follow the whip with the use of his blazing sword and just managed to put it in the trajectory of the Flame of the West. The sound, which resulted from that horrific impact, actually splintered the branches of the two trees, which were lying there on the ground. The Fire Demon was sent reeling backward by the recoil. Landing nimbly on his feet, like an Elf, High King Elessar pursued.

Flashes of blue and red erupted as they slashed at each other with their dreadful weapons. The ringing reverberations from those concussive collisions sent the animals of nearby Fangorn fleeing for their lives. Around and around they circled, testing each other's defenses, trying to wear down each other's resolve as the mounted forces finally began to draw near with Eowyn racing at their head. But Nargurth had just absorbed the conflagration of the Enchanted Woods, and High King Elessar had ridden hard for days and was no longer in the prime of life. He began to falter.

Seeing that his opponent was outmatched and knew it, Nargurth pressed the attack. Elessar fought valiantly. His countenance was very much like that of his ancestor, King Elendil, on the plain of Gorgoroth before the vicious visage of Sauron. But his plight was nearly as hopeless. And as Anduril resoundingly rang, while deftly intercepting repetitive blows that would have leveled a fortress, the High King was finally driven to the ground.

With the wind from the south, so swift was the flight of Arabel that the mare actually arrived even before the sound of her own hoof-falls. Swinging Gurthang with all of her strength as she swept by, Eowyn slashed at the Balrog's side.

The unexpected attack proved to be surprisingly effectual as Nargurth wheeled to the side, howling in pain and stumbling over the carcass of Nimloth. However, he flicked his whip reflexively at the passing specter. And it was not without effect. The very tip of the whip just did find a target as it sliced through the girth of Arabel's saddle. The mare and rider went in separate directions. And Gurthang was thrown clear of both, landing in a hollow between two green mounds. Nargurth did not notice what had happened to the blade since he was in great pain. But Elessar, who abruptly found himself being lifted from the ground by both Legolas and Arador, saw where the sword had come to rest.

Eowyn was injured by the fall, breaking several ribs and one of her arms. Rising quickly but breathlessly to her feet, she found that the Balrog was in swift pursuit. And there was no time for Arabel to return for her rider. The Lady of Rohan fled for the nearby fastness of Fangorn, relying on the closeness of its trees to safeguard her escape. She reached the woodlands just ahead of the raging firestorm.

The Balrog was unable to squeeze between the thick growths quickly enough to catch up to her. But he began breaking off branches, even entire tree trunks, igniting them and throwing them after her. There had been no rain for many days. And as the conflagrating cascade fell just behind and all around her, the entire forest was quickly catching flame. Soon, she was no longer able to turn either to the left or to the right but could only try to keep ahead of the fire at her heels. And it sounded to her like the inferno was actually bypassing her on either side. So desperate was her plight, it did not even occur to her that she had actually encountered the elements of her dream.

The Cavalry of Gondor looked on in horror at the spectacle. The Balrog stayed in the edge of the woodlands as he continued southward, making it impossible to attempt further engagements. Elessar considered the possibility of using one of the Great Eagles to try and rescue Eowyn. But the closeness of the growths would prevent any attempt at a pickup, and he knew it. The Lady of Rohan, he feared, would be unable to climb a tree because of her injuries. And smoke inhalation or the fire would most likely overwhelm her before she could reach a point from which one of the Great Eagles could rescue her, anyway. Nothing could be done.

Looking over the shoulders of both Legolas and Arador, seeing the horrified look on the face of Faramir, he suddenly recalled what Eowyn had told him. Knowing that he needed to share this mournful information with the Steward, he disengaged himself from the supportive grips of his two escorts and slowly approached his old friend. The worst part of any war, he thought, was that of giving the dreadful news of loss to a loved one.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Six: The Light Remains**

The conversation with High King Elessar had a mixed effect on the party. It was encouraging for the hobbits to hear the voice of their old friend, bedraggled though it quite noticeably sounded, but the news of Lothlorien and the imminent encounter with Nargurth was far from heartening. As the communication was broken, Pippin took advantage of the fact that he was riding on the same mount as Radagast.

"Of all the forests in Middle-earth," he said sorrowfully, "Lothlorien is the one that I can hardly imagine losing. I almost think I'd have rather suffered the loss of Fangorn, except that it probably would have meant the death of Treebeard as well."

"The works of Galadriel have all been fated to burn since long ago, Peregrin Took," Radagast quietly responded. "It was at far too great a cost that she and the other Nolder managed to cross into Middle-earth. And the Curse of Mandos, for the dreadfulness of the Kinslaying, was an irrevocable pronouncement. A High Elf of the Blessed Realm and a grandchild of Finwe she will forever be, but this land will not remember her."

"What on earth did she do?" demanded Merry incredulously.

"Do not misunderstand," Radagast patiently explained. "I am not saying that she took part in the butchery herself, but her passage from Valinor and into Middle-earth was made possible only by theft. And that theft was accomplished by murder. The Noldor lacked ships, which they needed in order to pursue Morgoth. The Teleri were the great seafarers of Alqualonde, but they would not yield their vessels to the vengeful sons of Feanor; so, the ships were taken with much bloodshed. And the fateful Oath of the sons of Feanor, to recover the Silmarils, earned the Noldor the Curse of Mandos. It was the first slaying of Elf by Elf. And most regrettably, it was only the beginning."

Radagast paused as he noticed that the hobbits were all looking to the south. They seemed to be trying to detect some visual evidence of the terrible news they had just received. But the woods of Lothlorien lay far beyond the Gladden River, Sir Ninglor, and the Gladden Fields, Loeg Ningloron. There was nothing for them to descry from such a distance. For his part, their guide was far more troubled by the view to the north. Dark storm clouds were quickly gathering. And to his eyes, their appearance did not seem altogether natural. That aspect of the mounting maelstrom he carefully withheld from his diminutive charges as he encouraged them to greater speed.

"It looks like we might have a bit of rain moving our way," he observed offhandedly. "We had best make use of the down slope and try to reach some cover before it can catch us in the open."

Remembering Bombadil's uncanny ability to interact with the elements, Merry asked, "Can't you just control the weather and keep it off of us?"

"I might be able to remain dry myself, depending," Radagast grudgingly replied. "But I rather doubt that I could keep everyone completely unaffected by the full brunt of a storm."

"Then lead on," said Merry with feigned disappointment.

Despite the pace, which the Wizard set for them with his steed, they were still in the foothills and far above any natural shelter when the first raindrops began to fall. The road was hedged on both sides however by many thick growths. And Radagast the Green used his budding Staff to encourage them into forming a kind of hut for the party. This time, however, they allowed their mounts to graze on the many leaves that decorated the walls of their sanctuary. And they were also able to use the runoff from some of the larger leaves to top off their water supply.

"It's clearly fortunate that you've been reunited with your Staff, Radagast the Green," Merry observed. "But I'm still not sure I understand why Elrond had you surrender it to begin with. Could he actually have known what was going to happen when you were rejoined?"

"As you might imagine, I have rather a new perspective on things," Radagast replied. "I now see how unwise it was of me to ask Frodo to let me see the Ring. Had I been in possession of my Staff at the time, it's possible that Bombadil the Brown might have gone the way of Saruman. And the days would now be darker. Despite being one of the Maiar, I too may have been delivered by the foresight of the Elven son of Earendil. At the time he made the request, it was clear to me that the manner of the Eldar was upon him. I could only think of how foolish Isildur had been to refuse his counsel in the matter of relinquishing the Ring; so, without explanation, I did as he asked."

Not surprisingly, the three hobbits quickly began preparing a meal. Radagast assisted them by bringing forth a couple of common spices from the surrounding vegetation. Soon, there was a small herb garden in one corner of the shelter. The journey across the High Pass had completely consumed their first several days east of Rivendell, so they made camp and went to sleep. But an abrupt upsurge in the tempest around them awakened them just as dawn was breaking. Arising swiftly, they joined Radagast at the entrance to their hut. A wave was working its way through the clouds, heading in their direction, and the rain had changed to snow.

"What is that thing?" gasped Pippin as he regarded the ugly undulation in the atmosphere.

"That, my dear hobbit, is a cold-air funnel," the Wizard replied. "And we should move at right angles to its approach. For us, that would be downhill. And we had best be swift about it."

The inclement elements were already causing their mounts to act skittish. But they were able to keep the animals steady just long enough to climb back aboard. Soon, they were rushing down the trail through the falling snow. The weather had moved in so swiftly that the ground was not yet frozen. Consequently, there was traction on what would have otherwise been a very treacherous down slope. But the snow was quickly accumulating and soon began to hinder their progress. As the waning daylight was totally swallowed by the insidious storm, they finally reached the flatland just east of the Misty Mountains. Night seemed to fall on them like the inescapable, frigid flakes of the unseasonable snowstorm.

"We dare not stop now!" cried Radagast as he spurred the hobbits onward.

"I can't see a thing!" wailed Pippin, sounding close to despair.

"We must trust in the surefootedness of our mounts!" shouted Radagast in reply. "They were bred for the Cavalry of Gondor! As long as they can still put one hoof in front of the other, they will find the way to the Old Ford for us! But I will give them such aid as I am able!"

Seated in front of the Wizard, on their galloping steed, Pippin could feel Radagast shift his position. Soon, he realized that the budding Staff was being balanced on his right shoulder. As it slowly grew in intensity, the amazed Keeper gasped at the emerald illumination that erupted from its end. The dreadful drifts seemed to diminish before the blazing beam. The charging animals tightened their frightened formation and surged into the swirling snow, following the line of glittering green. Suddenly, the sound of singing could suddenly be heard as the Ring Bearer lifted his voice. Its tone was raspy in the chill air, but its intended encouragement was not lost on the listeners.

"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began!" Samwise loudly sang. "Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can!"

With the second refrain, Merry chimed in. Pippin and Radagast soon joined them. Neighing excitedly and tossing their heads in time with the rests between the measures, the hoof beats of their mounts thundered in cadence to the rhythm of the shouted song. The rumbling snowstorm seemed to actually withdraw from around the light and their sound as the party passed practically unimpeded through the drifting darkness.

Many leagues lay between the feet of the Misty Mountains and the Old Ford. But the animals seemed strangely invigorated by the feast of magically grown leaves, which they had just recently consumed. They ran all through the night. The hobbits quickly learned to lie forward across their mounts' withers, draping their Elven cloaks completely over themselves to catch the heat radiating from the rushing forms beneath them. In this way, the exertion kept both beast and rider from freezing to death before the blast of the arctic onslaught as the temperature mercilessly continued to plummet.

As morning's first light found the gap between the horizon and the cloud cover, they caught their first glimpse of the Old Ford. None of them had accompanied Bilbo on his fateful journey to Mirkwood; but it was clear to the Halflings nonetheless that the river was far higher than its usual level. The white water was riddled with refuse from its northern inundation. In horror, they realized that they could hear the collisions as the debris slammed up against the Old Ford's fortifications before being swept around the pylons and carried downriver. And everything was coated with ice. They could also just make out the forms of the men who were valiantly trying to use long poles to guide the approaching waterborne ramrods into less catastrophic courses. But the workers could barely see through their own breath to make the adjustments. And bone-jarring crashes resulted.

Radagast continued the charge right out onto the Old Ford, dismounting at nearly full stride to join the workmen in their desperate attempts to avert the disastrous deluge. Stepping between two of them, he plunged the end of his Staff into the raging waters. It required little in the way of a reach. The boardwalk was now precariously close to the swollen surface of the raging river.

The men were confused by this action, since there was nothing for him to deflect in the area where he had inserted his Staff. But High King Elessar had been careful to station only seasoned veterans at the Old Ford. And Radagast the Brown had once been wont to frequent that passage on his travels to and from the vastness of Mirkwood. The hobbits could see the recognition in the eyes of one of the older men as he closely regarded the green-garbed figure before him. As the rest of the bewildered band beheld the result, they incredulously realized that they were witnessing the magic of one of the Maiar; though they all believed the members of that race had departed from Middle-earth with the Elves many long years before.

The waters rippled with the passage of the green growths, which suddenly snaked up out of the churning Anduin. They clung fast to the pylons, wrapping all around the battered timbers. This helped to anchor them to the riverbed. It also insulated them from further bombardment. Although bruised by the onslaught, nearly instantaneous tubers resiliently repelled the aquatic assault. Ice however began to quickly form around the gargantuan growths. But it looked as if this would only help them to hold their position. Even if the cold were to kill them, their remains would form into a frozen armor around the embattled anchors.

"If this doesn't hold," yelled Radagast against the howling wind toward the nearest workers, "no other effort will suffice! Remaining here in the open will surely bring loss of life! Falling back to Rhosgobel is the only option now available to us! The warring forces of winter and spring will now decide this contest! But you must abandon the Old Ford and flee for your lives! Off you go now!"

Some of the men paused just long enough to look disbelievingly back and forth between the plants, which were now encrusting the pylons, and the Wizard who had summoned them forth. But nobody objected to his recommendation. Almost as one person, everyone turned and fled before the frigid ferocity of the arctic onslaught.

A seemingly impossible maneuver enabled Radagast to remount his steed, swinging around and landing directly behind Pippin. Soon, he was leading the hobbits down the far side of the Old Ford. Shelters along the eastern side housed horses. And the Ford Keepers were soon mounted and falling in behind the members of the Fellowship.

Samwise had not anticipated a detour eastward, and he was not at all pleased that they had been forced in that direction prematurely. He felt as if he could hear the One Ring laughing at him through the windstorm. And the belligerent bitterness of the breeze reminded him of the unnatural chill it had produced when he had been briefly forced to carry it. It had been like having a lump of ice in his pocket. And now, it felt as if there were a lump of ice in his throat.

He believed that he was sensing the proximity of evil. This momentarily confused him since there was still a great distance lying yet between their company and its fell destination in the Land of Mordor. But then he remembered what Gimli had said about Mirkwood. And it occurred to him to question the wisdom of fleeing in that direction, even if they were trying to reach the garrison of the King's Guard at Rhosgobel.

Had it not been for the emerald illumination, blazing forth from the end of the Wizard's Staff and decimating the drifts, they would surely have foundered and frozen. It was as if the landscape itself were closing in all around them. And only the power of Radagast kept them from losing track of the road and taking a suicidal swerve into the full strength of the snowstorm. He opened the path before them with the power of spring, deftly wielding the symbol of his office as he sent green fire against the unseasonable snowfall that threatened to bury them alive.

Rhosgobel looked like an ice castle. A wind-blasted blanket of frozen precipitation reached almost to the parapet on its most northwestern side. Its walls were virtually indiscernible from the rest of the snow-covered scenery. Only its shape testified to its manmade origin. Some of the workmen, who were desperately trying to clear the area in front of its huge doorway, saw the approaching group. Straining against the massive door, held by both snow and wind, they wrestled the entrance open to receive the party.

There were fireplaces built into the surrounding walls. But the light they emitted was not enough to compensate for the snow-blindness of the newcomers. They had to slacken their reins and trust in the instincts of their mounts to navigate the building's interior. Having been practically deafened by the fury of the winter storm, it was several moments before any of them realized that they were being addressed.

"I'd be useless as a captain if I couldn't keep track of the number of people I had stationed at the Old Ford," said the chuckling man who approached Radagast and the hobbits. "It looks to me like there are a few extras here. And could it be that the cold has actually shrunk some of you and your mounts?"

"We're hobbits of the Shire," replied Merry without amusement as he pulled back his hood to reveal his face and spilled snow everywhere. "Halflings, if you prefer."

"Well, bless me now!" exclaimed the man excitedly, his bright blue eyes beaming. The swift smile exaggerated the ruddiness of his cheeks as he concluded, "You must be the kinfolk of that Bilbo Baggins!"

"You met Bilbo?" asked Pippin.

"Do I look like an Elf to you?" asked the man. "I heard stories about him when I was a child. I also know about the part some of his countrymen played in defeating Sauron. As for myself, I've never actually clapped eyes on one of your kind before. But come, whatever has happened to my manors? Welcome to Rhosgobel. I am Beregond, named after my father. I am Captain of the King's Guard here."

"Is that the same Beregond who served as a Guard of the Citadel until he was appointed to the White Company?" demanded the Keeper.

"You knew of my father?" Beregond incredulously asked in reply.

"Not just knew of him," Pippin corrected, "I actually knew him. He taught me the passwords when I served at Minas Tirith. I was glad when Aragorn chose to honor his valor on the battlefield. For a few moments, I was afraid things weren't going to go well for him."

"You speak of High King Elessar by the name he used before his ascension, and of events that transpired many decades ago! How in the world could you possibly have lived then and yet now appear so young?" demanded Beregond. "Are you, as even the High King himself, somehow descended from the Elves?"

"Not all of my countrymen are so long-lived," Pippin sheepishly responded. "My life has been prolonged by an unusual type of magic."

"So then, Master Halfling, there are types of magic that are not unusual?" Beregond laughed as he asked.

"So it would seem," Pippin smilingly replied, winking over his shoulder at Radagast. "My full name is Peregrin Took. But my friends call me Pippin, or just Pip; and so may you, Beregond."

Pippin then made introductions for the rest of the party. Understanding that he had taken part in the legendary events of long ago, Beregond greeted Merry with a newfound respect. He recognized the name of Samwise Gamgee and was clearly confounded to be in the presence of one of the Ring Bearers. But he was equally thunderstruck to discover that a Wizard was also part of the company.

As the introductions were coming to a conclusion, one of Beregond's subordinates approached. A moment after concluding a quick discussion with that individual, the Captain of the Guard turned his attention back to the Fellowship. He focused on Radagast.

"I've been told how you saved the Old Ford and the lives of my men," he said. "And I'm very thankful. I'm sorry to have to tell you that conditions outside are continuing to deteriorate and that a rider has recently arrived with evil tidings. Carrock is completely underwater. And we're not sure if anyone survived. Apparently, it happened very quickly. Since I'm certain you're well acquainted with history, I'm sure you know that there hasn't been a storm like this since the days of the Witch King of Angmar. Perhaps you can tell me what terror is afoot in Middle-earth that such an evil day has come upon us."

"A Balrog has been loosed from Moria," Radagast quietly replied. "And we are on an urgent errand at the bidding of High King Elessar in response to that threat. We need a boat with which to journey down the Great River."

"The boat we can furnish," Beregond replied. But then he gravely added, "But it may be quite awhile before you can be provided with a river into which to place it. That torrent of ice and debris would smash even the very stoutest of vessels to pieces, and we have nothing of Elven design. You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you need. But I'm afraid your departure will have to be delayed. And I cannot hazard a guess as to how long you may be forced to remain. Our supplies however should easily hold. That's the only good news I have to offer. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have matters to which I must attend."

As Beregond was walking away, Merry turned to Radagast, questioningly repeating the title he had just heard, "The Witch King of Angmar? Who was that?"

"You met him," Radagast replied. "In fact, it was your sword thrust that made it possible for the Lady of Rohan to finally rid the world of that evil."

"My sword thrust?" repeated Merry hollowly. Then, suddenly realizing what the Wizard was saying, he ventured, "I still have the hilt of that sword with me! Is that the reason for the storm? Is it somehow responsible?"

"No, Master Meriadoc," the Wizard reassuringly responded. "There is no connection between the two things. I'm not even certain whether or not the Balrog has anything to do with the dreadful weather. Fact of the matter is: I'm not sure what's responsible for this storm. But I must agree that the causative agent is evil. At any rate, we needn't dwell on such unpleasantness. I'm sure you all heard our host say that there's plenty of food. There are also roaring fires to warm by and lots of time to rest up for the remainder of our journey. It's been a long time since any of us have slept or eaten. You should make the most of this layover."

Merry and Pippin did not require any further encouragement, but quickly hurried off together to find food and drink. Samwise tiredly followed them but soon returned with a plate of food and a mug of ale. The identities of their guests had been revealed to the rest of the soldiers. The other two hobbits seemed to be basking in their celebrity status. But Samwise had never cared for being the center of attention. He also wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to talk with Radagast privately. He was still debating the possibility of discussing the Ring's growing weight on his mind and trying to figure out how to broach the subject. He hesitantly began by returning to the previous topic.

"Where was Angmar?" he asked around a mouthful of steaming food. "I suppose and hope it isn't there anymore."

"It arose in the same region where Angband was once located," Radagast answered slowly.

"Angband? That horrid place again?" Samwise rejoined. Abruptly, however, he remembered a question that he had intended to ask earlier and continued, "There's something I wasn't quite clear about when you told us how the Valar finally united and destroyed it. I know you said they rescued the other Silmarils, and that the two remaining sons of Feanor stole them. But where were they when that happened? Had they already returned to Valinor?"

"No, they hadn't. And that point was critical," answered Radagast. "It was Maglor's desire that he and Maedhros return into the West with the Powers and all the Elves that had come over to the battle. His hope was that the Valar would invalidate their fateful oath. But Maedhros wouldn't hear of it. He insisted that if they were not freed from their oath; then, once the Silmarils were returned to Valinor, its fulfillment would be beyond their ability. So, they stole the Silmarils out of the camp of the Valar while still in Middle-earth. And they slew the Elves who were guarding them in order to accomplish the theft."

"But then the next part of the story makes no sense," objected Samwise. "You told us Maglor threw his Silmaril into the sea and Maedhros flung himself and his Silmaril into a pit of fire. If this place called Angband was at the north end of the Misty Mountains, then it was nowhere near any kind of sea. And the quickest route to the ocean would have been along the very same course, I assume, that the Valar would have been taking to return into the West. It doesn't make sense that Maglor and Maedhros would've gone that way. They'd have been trying to escape. And the Silmarils burned them if they touched them, so they would've been a difficult cargo to transport as well. They had to have gone a different direction. And Maglor must also have told somebody about what happened after the fact, since it sounds like he would've been the only witness to what happened to his brother. Excuse me for pointing this out, but it seems highly unlikely that he could have found a pit of fire anywhere in Middle-earth into which he could have cast something like a Silmaril with any hope of actually destroying it."

A thunderstruck Wizard had been carefully watching the Ring Bearer work through a logic that had evaded the Firstborn for ages of the world. His emerald eyes helplessly beheld the tragic realization that was abruptly written on his companion's shocked face. He could only wonder how many of the counsels of the Very Wise would be laid bare in the next few moments.

"They came down the Great River," Samwise continued breathlessly. "The pit of fire is Mount Doom."

"Upon becoming aware of the Valar in Middle-earth, Sauron fled," Radagast quietly volunteered. "It was during this time, when Mordor was briefly abandoned, that Maglor and Maedhros entered the Land of Shadow. Their only thought at the time was to evade pursuit. And it seemed reasonable to conclude that no one would follow them into such a place or even think to look for them there. And it was there that, in a final act of utter despair, Maedhros and his Silmaril went the way of the One Ring. Upon returning to his stronghold, even Sauron never fully understood the fell source of power that Orodruin had become. But he learned to make use of that aperture, nonetheless. And that, Ring Bearer, is how he was able to forge the Doom of Men."

"Who else knows?" Samwise quietly inquired.

"Maglor almost went the way of his brother," Radagast slowly responded. "But it was a very different fate that awaited him. After building a ship in Itlilien, rather like an Elf named Legolas has been doing, he sailed all around the breadth of Middle-earth. During that journey, he cast his Silmaril into the Great Sea. When he finally arrived at the Grey Havens, seeking mostly to confirm the departure of the Valar, he told Cirdan the entire tale."

"How do you know this?" Samwise pressed.

"Cirdan became the Keeper of one of the Three Elf Rings," the Wizard replied. "Narya, the Ring of Fire, was given into his possession. He knew Sauron would have power over the Three if he were ever to regain the One Ring. And Sauron would then know everything Cirdan knew if he still had the Ring of Fire. So Cirdan needed to protect his knowledge from the Enemy. For a brief time, he considered giving Narya to Saruman. A foreboding, which he didn't understand, finally prevented him from making that choice. Finally, his foresight told him that Gandalf would have need of it. And Narya played an important role in the battle with the Balrog of Moria."

"I wondered about the final outcome since he was obviously changed by it," said Samwise, "but I never found the right opportunity to ask him."

Radagast continued, "It would have defeated the purpose for Cirdan to give the knowledge, which he had gained from Maglor, to the new Keeper of the Ring of Fire. And he feared to give it to anyone from whom Sauron might eventually extract it. But he knew it needed to be shared, for the day might come when the Very Wise would have need of that information. And he couldn't be certain that he would still be around himself. So, he selected the one member of the Istari whom he believed to be the least likely to come into direct conflict with Sauron. He chose me, although up until now that was only a source of embarrassment. We have told no one else. But the blood of Numenor runs strong in the veins of High King Elessar. He has very great insight and I cannot see all his thoughts. He may have discerned the truth of this matter, perhaps even more. I will have to wait to see if such is the case and what he will do if it is."

"So," summarized Samwise, "one of the Silmarils now sails the heavens upon the brow of Earendil, one is in the Heart of the Earth below Mount Down, and one is in the depths of the sea."

"That's right," replied Radagast.

"No, it's not!" Samwise surprisingly responded. "Those are the Sacred Jewels, they contain the Light Divine. It's fitting for one of them to be in the heavens among the stars. It's maybe even reasonable for one of them to dwell among the Fires of Creation at the Heart of the Earth; but being treated like contraband and fated to an eternity of darkness at the bottom of the sea is not!"

"What are you saying?" asked Radagast with a look of growing concern. Samwise was surprisingly passionate in his reprisal. Their quiet conversation had suddenly taken on a distinctly troubling tone.

"Even the Shire isn't perfect," Samwise slowly admitted. "Some folk just aren't able to handle their drink. When that happens, they usually mistreat others. Rosie and I were foster parents to a few kids who had come from such homes. I know from experience that, when you continually treat someone as worthless, there's a danger that they will begin to believe in their worthlessness. And they will sometimes act out in anger and violence. First, Morgoth stole all three of the Silmarils, as if they were mere trophies to be possessed. Then, after they were rescued, Maglor then stole the one that he threw into the sea, abandoning it like chattel. For some reason, the Valar allowed the Sacred Jewels to be treated in this way. If the Silmarils actually have any kind of self-awareness, this situation has to be rectified. In fact, I can hardly believe Ulmo hasn't done something about it already!"

"Ulmo?" asked Radagast, uncharacteristically raising his voice. "And why do you mention him?"

"Didn't you say he was the Lord of the Sea?" asked Samwise in reply. "If he's the Vala who is responsible for the oceans, it seems to me that he'd be the one to rescue Maglor's Silmaril."

"Of course," Radagast readily agreed, seeming strangely relieved. "I see the logic in your thinking."

"I'm not done," Samwise said flatly. "The Rings of Air and Fire went to Elrond and Gandalf."

"How do you know about the Ring of Elrond?" demanded Radagast, looking truly puzzled.

"I stayed up for a very long while when we spent the night in Rivendell," Samwise replied. "There were several bookcases in my room. I chanced upon an entry regarding the Three Elf Rings while I was skimming through one of them. I actually read quite a bit, until I was tired enough to be sure I would sleep."

"I see," replied Radagast. "And you were saying?"

"Elrond is the son of Earendil," the Ring Bearer continued. "And Gandalf was one of your order, a Maia. Both Rings were arguably put to good use during the War of the Ring. But Nenya, the Ring of Water, was given to Galadriel. It was patterned after Maglor's Silmaril, the one that now decorates the sea floor. Is it totally coincidence that it ended up with someone whose work was all fated to burn? There are many things that are beyond my comprehension, Radagast the Green, but I'm certain about one thing. Even if we succeed in making the Weapon, and even if we succeed in destroying this Balrog; as long as one of the Silmarils remains imprisoned in the dark recesses of the ocean, this thing will never be over."

Even by the light of the distant fires, the face of Radagast appeared furrowed as he slowly said, "Apparently, I am not following you. I do not understand where you are going with your reference to Galadriel. What in the world is it that you are trying to imply, Ring Bearer?"

"I know she wasn't directly descended from Feanor," Samwise explained. "But she is one of the Noldor and, as such, she bears some responsibility for the Kinslaying. The part she played in defeating Sauron was very minimal, especially when compared to Gandalf and Elrond. The only real thing of benefit that she did was when she gave the Phial to Frodo. But it contained the Light of Earendil and that light has gone out. It may shine forth again. But in order for that to happen, the most terrible instrument in all of history will first have to be remade. The only evidence of her power in Middle-earth has become completely dependant on the continued evil of the One Ring. Doesn't that strike you as being odd?"

"I see what you mean," said Radagast quietly. "But that dependency could well work to our advantage. We will almost certainly have to infuse the Light of Earendil into the Weapon. And the Phial of Galadriel seems the most reasonable means of acquiring that ingredient. So, despite her questionable personal history and her departure from Middle-earth, she may yet play an essential role in this conflict."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to just use the Silmaril itself?" asked Samwise carefully. "Perhaps I'm wrong in my thinking, but I'm guessing Cirdan shared that information with you. You know where it is, don't you?"

"Approximately, and that's why I was surprised when you mentioned Ulmo," said the Wizard softly. "Before the Breaking of the World, the mountainous region of Andrast was called Nevrast. At the end of its peninsula, under the shadow of Mount Taras, was a place called Vinyamar. That is where Tuor had his encounter with Ulmo, when the Vala sent him as an emissary to warn the inhabitants of Gondolin of its impending fall. But Andrast is also called Ras Morthil, Horn of Darkness. Maglor gave it that name. He went ashore for supplies not long after throwing his Silmaril into the sea. The people of that region didn't know why he referred to it in such a way. But they could see that he was a High Elf, one who had come over from the Blessed Realm, and they preserved his enigmatic designation. From there, in order to follow the coastline, he had to turn northward. And he was uncertain of what kind of reception he would have at the Grey Havens. He didn't know if, after the theft of the Silmarils, some of the Valar might have remained in Middle-earth."

"At the very least, it sounds as if it's not exactly along our present course," agreed Samwise. But then, he carefully continued, "There is however something else I don't understand. You said that you clearly see the thoughts of all who are mortal. But several times during our conversation you obviously didn't understand what I was trying to say, even to the point of mistaking my comment about Ulmo. Why would the thoughts of a simple hobbit, like myself, elude your abilities?"

"That has to do with the rest of the tale, which Maglor told to Cirdan. And it also relates to the potentially mutinous companions onboard his ship who made it necessary for him to finally cast his Silmaril into the sea," the Wizard replied. Then, noticing that Merry and Pippin were returning to their quite corner, he suggested, "But perhaps we had best conclude this conversation at another time. We will need strength with which to battle the elements. We cannot afford to stay here long. We should rest now."

As he stretched out his bedroll and settled into it, Pippin leaned over to Samwise, whispering, "Did we interrupt something?"

"Just more history," answered Samwise. He then enigmatically finished, "Things that haven't happened yet, and some things that should never have been."

"Glad we missed that," Merry concluded, listening in on the conversation.

Radagast had slipped into the outskirts of their corner. There was a place on the floor where a shaft of sunlight had found its way through an upper window. Into this bright patch he placed a large handful of earth, which he had collected from the herb garden in their magically erected hut. He touched the end of his Staff to it and quietly muttered. Then, he organized his belongings into the surrounding area and settled back to sleep.

As he reclined, he considered the question that had been put to him by Samwise. It mirrored an earlier question, which Beregond had jokingly asked Pippin. Gandalf had once remarked about the ability of the hobbits to surprise even him. But Radagast doubted if the Grey Pilgrim really had ever understood the reason for the thoughts of the Halflings sometimes being veiled from the Maiar. And even if Numenorean blood coursed through the veins of Beregond, he surely had not discerned the accuracy of his question. But Radagast knew the hobbits actually were descended from an intermingling of the Elves and the Dwarves. And he wondered if it might actually be safe to share this knowledge, which he had kept hidden for an Age of the World, with the insightful Ring Bearer.

None of the hobbits had been aware of the Wizard's industry. And since they were sleeping, they failed to observe the mound of enchanted earth as it slowly crept across the floor in order to remain in the moving patch of sunlight. By the time night fell and the sunbeam failed altogether, a leafy outcropping covered the entire surface of the deposit. Its pleasantly pungent aroma greeted the awakening Halflings. To them, it smelled almost like Longbottom Leaf, only slightly spicier.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Pippin, clearly excited by the possibility.

"You'll get a chance to sample it right before we leave, Master Peregrin," Radagast sternly advised him. "You'll not have the heat of your mount or even your own exertion with which to stay warm once we're on the river. So, I've prepared a special mixture just for the purpose. But if you smoke too much of it, you'll flush so badly that we'll have to dip you in the icy Anduin to cool you off! And you know how we'd hate to do that!"

Pippin squinted his eyelids as he peered at the Wizard, clearly suspicious of duplicity in the sentiments that were being expressed. But Samwise and Merry laughed uproariously. And as the hobbits went off in search of breakfast, Radagast went looking for Beregond.

Upon finding the Captain of the Guard, the Green Wizard was pleased to learn that the snow had finally ended and the temperature was rising, although it was obviously still freezing outside. But the rising of the sun was expected to help take off some of the chill and begin melting the ice deposits and the drifts of snow. Beregond also told him that a couple of boats were housed in the shelters near the river, and they were welcome to take one. Radagast requested some fresh supplies and then joined the Halflings at their table.

After breakfast they prepared to depart. Radagast requested that someone ride with them to the Old Ford in order to lead their mounts back to Rhosgobel. Since they could not participate in the river journey, the Wizard offered them as compensation for the boat. Since Beregond thought it sounded like a suicide mission, rather than give the duty to someone else, he volunteered to go with them. He had no idea of how seriously he was underestimating the abilities of Radagast the Green.

As they were riding out into the clearing in front of the large doorway, which the workers had striven furiously throughout the night to maintain, Radagast turned to Samwise and said, "I'm glad I got a full night's rest. I couldn't have done this yesterday."

He then motioned for the rest of the group to remain where they were while he and Pippin rode out to the totally over-drifted road. Steadying their mount, he aimed his staff in their intended direction of travel. And having seen the Wizard at work before, the rest of the group wisely braced themselves for whatever was about to happen.

"_Calennar!_" cried Radagast.

An incinerating emerald inferno erupted from the end of his staff. The glittering green fireball decimated the drifts as it rushed down the road before them, all the way to the Old Ford. Wafting billows of steam abruptly rose up from the suddenly exposed surface of the Old Forest Road. The rest of the group looked on in stunned silence.

"The puddles will soon freeze, so I'm afraid you'll have rather an icy ride back," he said as he turned towards Beregond. But then he raised his voice, addressing the group at large as he said, "Let us be on our way!"

The cold front had passed southward during the night. The pocket of moist air, from which it had squeezed the snowfall, had been replaced by the parched polar plunge; as a consequence, many of the newly formed puddles evaporated into the arid atmosphere before they had any chance to freeze into sheets of ice. Slowing their pace in order to do so, as required, the company carefully crossed over the few that formed, finally making their way to the Old Ford without incident.

Another but much more controlled burst of glittering green conflagration opened the way to the shed, within which was housed their required transportation. With the help of Beregond, they were able to extract the cart upon which the boat was stored and drag it to the edge of the Great River. The force of the water had kept most of the channel open. There was a place near the road that was free enough of ice to facilitate the releasing of their study-looking craft. Working quickly in the cold, they transferred the bulk of their belongings into the vessel while still upon its mobile launching platform.

Because they had been forced to slow their descent into the Anduin Valley, in order to safely cross the few lingering patches of ice on the Old Forest Road, it was already close to evening. By the time they could drag the cart the remaining distance to the water, they knew it would be night. Since it would be foolhardy to attempt a launch in total darkness, they elected to bed down in the part of the shed where the boat had been kept. Since the corrals had all been emptied during the evacuation, there was ample room for their mounts as well. And the structures were all well built. Upon their request, Radagast allowed the hobbits to sample some of his special, smoking mixture. Even the steeds seemed to enjoy the warming effects of the secondhand smoke.

The next morning, after a hasty breakfast, the Halflings prepared to part with their animals. Barley and Sugarloaf were now a very long way from Bree. But their prowess, in forcing their way through the unseasonable snowstorm, had won them the respect of both the Beornings at the Old Ford and the King's Guard at Rhosgobel. The Halflings knew that their mounts would be well treated. And they surrendered them to Beregond without any misgivings but with many hearty pats and handfuls of treats, which they had carefully reserved from their breakfast. And the Keeper treated Thunderclap, the gallant horse upon which he and Radagast had been borne, in like fashion.

Soon, the hobbits and their Wizard guide were all seated aboard the boat. Beregond lowered the platform and manned the ropes, slowly releasing the vessel into the waiting river. The current quickly swept the oversized skiff away from the shoreline and out into the breadth of the channel. Beregond smiled cheerfully and waved at them until his form receded into anonymity among the other elements of the rapidly racing topography.

Almost instantly, Pippin produced his pipe and requested that they sample some more of the Wizard's special blend. They watched the shoreline sweep by through puffs of stimulating, lime-green smoke.

It had now been several days since their last conversation with High King Elessar. Radagast attempted to make contact by using the Palantir but was unable to get a response from anyone. The hobbits understood this to mean that everyone else was otherwise engaged, either preparing for the encounter with the Balrog or participating in that conflict. Fearing the horrific scenes, which might be revealed to the Halflings if he yielded to their requests, Radagast the Green declined to use his abilities to make the Seeing Stone show them what was happening. He said it was best to wait for someone to contact them and give a report. Their reaction to the Wizard's position on this matter was mixed. But they were unable to change his mind.

The Wizard's wisdom, in electing to utilize the waterway, became immediately apparent. The miles swept swiftly by. Even at a dead run, their mounts would have been hard-pressed indeed to make such progress. And they would not have been able to sustain such a pace for long. As long as someone stayed awake to keep their craft in the center of the current, they could maintain their journey both day and night. And so they did, setting up rotating watches to provide for a navigator throughout the first night.

During the morning of the second day, they caught their first sight of the Gladden River. By around midday, they were south of the area where it joined the Great River. As darkness fell that evening, Radagast announced that they were now almost exactly east of the Redhorn Gate. And he added that he was hoping to begin passing by Lothlorien, or what was left of it, by the nightfall of the following day.

The next morning, however, it was horribly apparent that the rate of their travel had slowed considerably. This was despite the Gladden River's addition to the current. Radagast immediately repeated his attempt to reach someone with the Seeing Stone. And this time he was successful. But the news was far worse than anything they had anticipated. Eowyn had been lost, although she had sacrificed her life in order to save the High King. And Fangorn was in flames. In Elessar's foolhardy attempt to single-handedly thwart the threat of Nargurth, both Fangorn Forest and the Lady of Rohan had apparently come to their end. The hobbits were all sickened by the terrible news. Merry however was utterly overwhelmed and wept out loud unashamedly to the consternation of his consoling companions.

But the evil report unfortunately did not end there. The refuse from the decimation of Lothlorien had been swept down the River Nimrodel and was choking the place where it joined with the Anduin. With the addition of all the floodwaters, the Great River had overflowed many of its banks and its normal course had become almost a standing lake as the inundation tried to find some new way southward across the Field of Celebrant.

As deeply disturbed as the hobbits obviously were by all the other news, Radagast carefully concealed his concern regarding this last perplexing portion. It meant they would have to attempt the dangerous bypassing of Dol Guldur in the dead of night. Since the Balrog had broken containment by traversing the conflagration of Fangorn in order to pass southwards, they could not risk the delay that would be required to make their transit by the light of day. Under the guidance of High King Elessar, the Numenoreans had razed Minas Morgul to the ground and then rebuilt Minas Ithil with its towers soaring into the heavens to overlook the Land of Shadow. But the stronghold at the southwestern edge of Mirkwood, although decimated by Celeborn and Galadriel, had apparently been subsequently restored by the Orcs. The Fellowship now had no choice but to face the Fortress of Darkness under the worst of possible circumstances, unless they could force their way downriver.

"We must use the paddles," declared Radagast as he produced the implements. "We can't allow our progress to be hindered. The Great River gives us our only chance of getting in front of the Balrog. We must use it to our ultimate advantage."

He distributed the oars and then set a vigorous example with the one he had retained. Soon, the shoreline revealed the increase in their rate of passage. But to the hobbits, the Green Wizard did not seem at all satisfied with their progress as the hours slowly passed by. A growing shadow to their southeast however gave evidence of their geographic change.

South of the Gladden River, for a space of many miles, the forest of Mirkwood angled away from the Anduin. But the wooded region then began to jut westward and made its closest approach to the Great River just to the south of the Gladden Fields at its southwestern most corner, also the location of Dol Guldur.

As the evening progressed and it became evident that their efforts had not been sufficient to carry them beyond that sinister site, Radagast allowed them to suspend their rowing. In the event that combat would soon be required in order for them to continue southward, he wanted them to save their strength. But he was thankful for the clear skies, which had been left in the wake of the passing cold front, as he aimed his emerald eyes eastward. The sprawling vault of heaven lay open above them, bejeweled with its multitudinous twinkling stars, each of which he knew by its ancient Elven name. Night had fallen and the Fellowship was still just to the north of the Fortress of Darkness.

In the twilight, the edge of the distant woodland began to blur. It looked almost as if some of the smaller trees were in motion. Merry and Pippin were momentarily reminded of the mobile forest of Fangorn. After a time, it became appallingly evident that they were not hallucinating. Something was crossing the eerie expanse that separated them from the darkling woodlands. Soon, the sound of birds filled the air as they rushed overhead, fleeing before that fearsome force. Bobbing torchlight began to appear amidst the flood of darkness. The glint of weaponry was evidenced by that incendiary illumination. The hobbits suddenly grasped the fell nature of the approaching horde, turning to Radagast in horror. But the Wizard was already guiding the boat towards the shoreline.

"They'll use their arrows if we try to slip by on the river," he quickly explained, fully understanding the fear in their eyes. "I can't protect all of us from such volleys. But they prefer to take living captives. So if we stand and fight, we can keep them from using archery."

"But there are only four of us!" objected Pippin loudly, his voice shrill with unbridled terror as he unconsciously voiced the concern of his companions.

"Yes, my good friend," Radagast replied, a wry smile just visible on his face as he turned to face the trembling Halflings. "But there are millions of stars in the sky!"

This enigmatic statement silenced the other two hobbits, but the Ring Bearer replied, "I don't understand."

"All creatures of Darkness fear the Light, all Light; the Light of the Sun, the Light of Earendil, and even the Starlight," Radagast explained. He then indicated an exceedingly bright point in the eastern sky and loudly proclaimed, "Yonder comes the Vingilot, the enchanted ship of Earendil. Among the stars he now sets his course. And the Light Divine, which he bears, as well as all the Light of Heavenly Creation is available to aid us now in this hour of Darkness."

"I still don't follow you," admitted Samwise, a look of consternation on his barely visible face.

"Then unsheathe your weapons and I will gladly explain," Radagast replied with a smile. And then he sang:

_**The Light Remains**_

(_A Song of Radagast the Green, Dol Guldur's Bane_)

Long ago in the depths of Time

Earendil brought forth Light Divine

from the Two Trees of Valinor

which had been killed by bad old Melkor

It was held in a Silmaril

one of Three Jewels for which Elves would kill

All were swiped by the Enemy

'til that one came back from across the sea

The Light remains, the Light remains!

The Light remains, the Light remains!

The Halflings were hardly aware of the poetic license, which the Wizard was using in his pronunciation of the Blessed Mariner's name in order to craft his lay, as a shaft of brilliant radiance suddenly shot out from the celestial object in the east. It engulfed the bewildered hobbits, reflecting off their exposed blades and flashing back into the eyes of the approaching attackers. Some actually tripped and fell in their blindness and were quickly trampled by the ones behind, who stumbled over them and fell as well. The sharp implements, which were involved in the melee, resulted in many injuries and not a few fatalities. The first several waves of invaders were decimated by this domino effect. And Radagast continued to sing:

Melkor quailed at the Valar's might

They cast him out through the Door of Night

What escaped from the vanquished North

still fears the Light that led the Valar forth

It resides in the heavens still

upon the brow of Earendil

He sails the skies in the Vingilot

with Light that still can foil the darkest plot

The Light remains, the Light remains!

The Light remains, the Light remains!

A bubble of iridescence now surrounded the Fellowship. The few Orcs, who were able to find their way through the blinding Light, had their weapons hewn in pieces by the brightly empowered blades of the Halflings and their magical minstrel. But the sheer number of the attackers, involved in the deluge of darkness, was enabling some of them to penetrate the field of radiance and come within striking distance of the defenders. And seeing how much more difficult it was going to be to overcome the scant force before them, some of the Orcs, unable to approach the foursome, were now beginning to loose arrows at them, most of which were actually striking the few Orcs that had penetrated the glowing globe of energy. But knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the archers could adjust their aim, Radagast sang:

Calling even Starlight down in our defense

like it fell on Middle-earth of Old

Blind opponents sure are easy to convince

when their weapons become hard to hold!

Brighten them 'til they ignite

so they can't use them to fight

and are finally put to flight!

By infusion, cause confusion!

By your sunning, send them running!

Show the ancient power of Light! That's right!

The Green Wizard's lute had begun to accompany him the moment he started singing, even though it was still slung across his back. Now music also issued forth from his flute, apparently in response to the arrival of even more ethereal illumination.

Beams of Starlight came cascading down from the sky in every direction. The places where they intersected sparkled like diamonds, confusing the eyes of the archers. To them, it was like looking at their targets through prisms. And their ability to positively locate their quarry was lost in the multitudinous parallax effect. In their determined efforts, they were skewering their comrades, who were loudly demanding that they stop shooting. And their swords, spears, and arrows were becoming too bright to hold. But the fearsome foursome before them seemed empowered even further by the coalescing celestial radiance, whose weapons could now completely blind with a glance and kill with but a touch.

To be sure, the Halflings were amazed and encouraged by all the enchanted illumination, which both strengthened and defended them; but, despite wielding enigmatically empowered weapons, they were still fighting for their lives and hard-pressed to match the sheer volume of the attackers. And by the additional illumination, which was being provided by the Starlight, they could now discern the size of the force against which they were set. The entire region between the River Anduin and the forest of Mirkwood was swarming with enemies. In horror, they suddenly comprehended that they were up against an army of thousands. They began to despair. But Radagast sang:

Greater is the Light that dwells with us

than all the Darkness rushing to their aid

Even though their coming looks quite ominous

my good friends, be not dismayed!

Orcs were not the only foes before them. What remained of the Werewolves of Sauron were also scattered through that force. And towering Trolls could now be seen hesitating in uncertainty at the edge of the glowing globe that surrounded the Fellowship. Fueled now by desperation, with the Green Wizard's words spurring them onward, the Halflings began to move forward offensively. The enemy could not withstand the coming of their Light. Laughing now in the heat of battle, Radagast the Green sang:

As the Orcs attack

Light will drive them back

Even Trolls are afraid

they might turn to stone

Run away back home!

Best go find you some shade!

Mounds of their slain comrades now hindered the enemy's ability to approach the offensive foursome. The only access to their now advancing position entailed exposure to their lethal Light. They felt like ants attacking Oliphaunts. It quickly became as clear as the blinding beams before them that they had lost the campaign. They began to turn and retreat. Radagast announced their route with a final verse of his song, ending with a last rendition of the chorus as he sang:

Greater is the Wellspring of the Day

than all the Darkness rushing now

to get away!

The Light remains, the Light remains!

The Light remains, the Light remains!

The Wizard waited until the last remnant of the forest's forces had disappeared from sight before dismissing the amazing illumination and quickly herding the hobbits back to the boat.

Soon, they were safely south of Dol Guldur; and Samwise turned to Radagast, softly saying, "I almost hate to point this out, but it looked as if you were actually enjoying yourself. And I don't just mean about using all that magic. You seemed to take great pleasure in killing those Orcs. I'm not sure I understand the sentiment. I know they're evil, but they can't help what they are."

"No, they can't," agreed Radagast. "But do not mistake my sentiments, which you would also have seen in the countenance of Elves in a similar situation. It isn't sadistic glee; it's Rapture. Orcs are the descendants of Elves, taken and twisted by the Great Enemy and the Dark Lord. But for all that the Darkness did to mutilate them and turn them to its will; it could not cheat them of their destiny. When Orcs die, their souls return to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor. And then, they are Elves once more. In death, the Captive Army is delivered from the Darkness."

They had journeyed far enough to the south that the nights were not so chilly. But Radagast wanted them to continue rowing, despite the fact that it was midnight and they were all exhausted from the battle. Of course, no one but the Wizard was in favor of this. But he offered to prepare a special meal for them first, to which he would add a magical ingredient that would give them the required strength to recover from their ordeal and spend several hours rowing. He also promised to let them sleep late the following morning while he took over and provided the extra propulsion.

It was suddenly clear to the Halflings that Radagast was far spent. His use of magic, in order to deliver them all from the forces of the Fortress of Darkness, had worn him completely out. And the promise of food and extra sleep to follow provided him with the leverage required for swaying the hobbits to his opinion. As they all watched the Wizard prepare the meal, Samwise took careful note of the leather pouch from which the secret ingredient was added.

"So, now that Sugarloaf and Barley have been left behind at the Old Ford," Samwise jokingly inquired, "have we become the new pack animals?"

Merry and Pippin were obviously mystified by the question. But Radagast laughed out loud, his emerald eyes gleaming in the Starlight, as he turned with a smile to the Ring Bearer.

"Not so, Master Gamgee!" he exclaimed. "I have far more respect for you than that! Although you were obviously keeping a very close eye on their feeding mixture! But don't worry; I shall not drive you as relentlessly as I did them! And I may even feed you better!"

After emerging from a life-threatening conflict, the jocularity was a welcome diversion. It was however short-lived, for moments later they realized that they could see the glowing embers of Lothlorien on the western side of the Great River. And they believed that the glow on the horizon, far to the south, was the inferno of Fangorn.

They hurriedly ate their specially prepared meal. And as the Wizard slept, the three Halflings took up the oars and rowed for the lives of their endangered friends; for they could not even bear to think about the fiery fate that had apparently claimed the life of the beloved Lady of Rohan.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Seven: The Paths of Fate**

Eowyn's race before the firestorm of Fangorn finally slowed to a stumbling stagger. Between the ever-thickening and all-pervasive cloud of smoke, and the tree branches somehow managing to smack her in the face as she tried to run beneath them, she had become totally blind. She was not even sure if it would be possible to restore her sight in the increasingly unlikely event that she somehow could escape from her current predicament.

Everything hurt. Her eyes, though now useless, stung horribly. Her airways ached with every breath. She was certain that her lungs had already been seared by the inhalation of smoke. And it was becoming impossible for her to breathe, even though she had been forced to radically reduce her pace. To make matters worse, her throat was so parched that she was unable to swallow; but since her tongue tasted like ash, she was sure it would only induce vomiting. And all that was left of her strength was quickly failing already. The injuries, which she had sustained before her entry into the now-flaming forest, had all been badly aggravated by her forced flight. She knew it would not be possible for her to go much further, blindly groping through a smothering noxious haze.

All of her five senses were now reporting damage of some sort, save the sense of hearing. It was now her only means of staying ahead of, or at least away from, the encroaching incineration. But her capacity for concentration was quickly becoming as impaired as her ability to remain erect and in motion. And the ever-present cacophony of falling branches, burned off by the effect of the flames, was making it decidedly difficult to localize the proximity of the nearest parts of the racing firestorm. Staggering into some kind of clearing, she forced herself to focus on the sound of the flames. And she was alarmed by what she heard.

The forest fire was no longer just behind and around her on both sides; it was now in front of her as well. She was in a collapsing pocket. This sudden realization decimated all that remained of her waning determination. Helplessly realizing that she was fainting, and in all probability never to regain consciousness again, she stumbled and fell. She remained coherent just long enough to realize that she was falling into the most unlikely of imaginable things, given her situation: a pool.

If she could have, she would have laughed at the irony as her consciousness faded. It now seemed that, rather than burn to death in the fire, she was going to drown instead. She consoled herself with the knowledge that, at the very least, she would finally be able to slake her thirst just before her life came to an end. With the last vestige of her lucidity, she forced herself to open her mouth and then drink deeply of the mysterious liquid that abruptly engulfed her. Only moments later, as all voluntary control was finally lost, she unconsciously inhaled.

Eowyn was no longer aware of her body. This, she thought, must be the dream that leads to death. She assumed, from the sudden total absence of pain, that the liquid must have quenched the burning in her lungs and that the buoyant suspension of her dying form was keeping her other injuries from being aggravated. And she was quite certain that she had indeed crossed over into the next realm when she suddenly found herself engulfed in the smell of spring. This aroma awakened a specific memory and she found herself reliving the event.

Wintering in Isengard, at the southern foot of the Misty Mountains, she had often passed the time by pouring through the many tomes that could be found in the tower's vast library. It was there that she had learned the lore of Gondor and much more. The Numenoreans had preserved much of the knowledge of the Elves, through whom they were of mixed descent. After many decades of spending her winters that way, one day in the early spring she finally exhausted those resources.

Immediately, she had felt strangely compelled to undertake an arduous journey up into the overshadowing mountains. Faramir had accompanied her, although he was not able to understand her intent, nor did he seem as moved by the ensuing experience.

From the very top of the world, she had beheld the glittering jewels of the heavens, some of which she then knew by their Elven names. Beneath a magical mantle of shimmering snow, lit up by the star-strewn twilight, the world and its long history seemed to converge. Briefly, she gained a sense of the timelessness of the Elves and the land in which they, for so long, had sojourned. It was almost as if she had seen all the way to the Far Shore. It had been a turning point in her life, a paradigm shift. Her worldview was altered that night. This new mindset had been reinforced on the return journey. And it was the part of the experience of which she had been reminded by the overpowering aroma, which now seemed to permeate her very being.

It had taken several days for them to reach the nearest peak. During that time, the weather had very quickly been warming. And unbeknownst to them, as they were making the long journey back, spring arrived in force in the valley below. After making a sharp descent that swiftly rounded a corner, Eowyn found herself suddenly confronted with the smell of spring. Having just emerged from the nearly airless atmosphere of the upper altitudes, she was practically overwhelmed by the abrupt aroma. And experiencing it now for the second time, the fragrance was like remembrance to her.

She recalled beholding Orthanc in the distance, like a proud stone growing up in the midst of a perpetual garden. And for the very first time, its Numenorean name had sounded right to her. In her vision, she suddenly recalled that it had become the haunt of Saruman. It had also served as a prison for Gandalf, whom the people of Gondor called Mithrandir, albeit briefly. The touch of the Elder Race was strong upon it, so much so that even Wizards were drawn into its abodes. It was almost as if she could see one standing atop that ancient edifice. But the figure was not White or Grey, as the other two Wizards had been. He was the color of spring. And quite suddenly, he did not seem to be all that distant. It was as if he were reaching down to her, wanting her to take his hand in his. So, she did.

She rolled over. She was lying on the shore of a small pool. She had no concept of how she had come to be removed from its embrace. There were no tracks leading to the place where she lay. Abruptly, she sat up. Her body responded swiftly to the command, and it quite unexplainably did not induce any discomfort whatsoever. She was stunned to realize that her vision was completely clear. Taking a deep breath, she found that there were no aftereffects from the smoke inhalation. In fact, she felt strangely invigorated and not fatigued at all. It was like rising from the most restful sleep she had ever experienced, not like barely emerging from what should easily have been a lethal situation.

Glancing all around, she noticed that the immediate forest had been reduced to embers. Since she had no idea how long that would have taken, she was unable to use the information to figure out how long she had been unconscious. She also took note of the rain clouds that were moving in from the north. The precipitation, she reasoned, would help cool the embers enough for her to walk out, but it would also cause a cloud of steam that would mask her from any search party.

Rising to her feet, she realized that she had unconsciously used her arms to lever herself up. She had been certain that her left arm was broken, perhaps in several places. Standing now, she extended her arm in front of herself to examine it. She was so startled by what she found that she nearly lost her footing and fell. Her hand was not that of a woman in the autumn of life. In fact, as she extended her inspection, she soon discovered that all of her limbs appeared to be unusually youthful. She flexed her fingers, experiencing a strength that had started to fade decades ago. It was as unnerving as it was exciting.

Looking around in astounded confusion, it occurred to her that she might be able to see her reflection in the same mysterious pool from which she had presumably just emerged. Carefully approaching the seemingly undisturbed feature, she leaned forward and gazed upon its pristine surface. Her breath caught as she beheld her reflection. She was a young woman again. For just a moment, she thought that she was somehow being deceived and it was not really her face. But the mouth dropped open and the eyes widened in precise unison with her initial reaction.

Dropping reflexively to her knees, she looked up into the heavens. Evening had come. And the advancing rain shield had yet to cover the sky. There, hanging low in the east was a light she recognized as the Star of Earendil. She suddenly understood that, even though she was mortal, almost in the same manner as Gandalf the Grey she had been sent back. But she also knew that she had been sent back for a purpose and that she now had an obligation to discover what that purpose might be. Tears welled up and overflowed her face as she realized the enormity of the gift she had been given. But her voice was strong as she sang in gratitude to her Creator:

**_Hope's Eternal Spring_**

(_The Baptism of Eowyn_)

I was lost

Now I am found

Should have burned or should have drowned

I was blind

Now I can see

What in wonder has become of me?

My final breath was spent

This mortal shell was rent

like it was cut with a knife

Facing the fires of hell

into the deep I fell

But I was raised to new life

here in the midst of my strife!

I was lost

Now I am found

Should have burned or should have drowned

I was blind

Now I can see

What in wonder has become of me?

Though I was dead, it seemed

now I have been redeemed

That which was gone is restored

Surely as I've believed

so I have now received

what none could ever afford!

This is a gift from the Lord!

I was lost

Now I am found

Should have burned or should have drowned

I was blind

Now I can see

What in wonder has become

O what in wonder has become

O what in wonder has become of me?

As the rain began to fall, she collected herself and, with unbelievable impunity, began the long walk out of the total ruin of Fangorn. She had no knowledge of the special drink of the Ents, which had its source in that pool. In fact, it was the same pool that had added several inches to, as well as many years to the lives of, the three hobbits. In Eowyn's case, its restorative properties had risen to the occasion. Instead of increasing her stature and simply prolonging her life, as it had done for the Halflings, it had fully restored both her health and her youth.

Eowyn also had no direct knowledge of Yavanna, whose emissary she had just become. It was that Valier who had given life to the Two Trees of Valinor and was numbered with the Aratar, the eight greatest of all the Valar. She was also the wife of Aule, who created the Dwarves. And with the help of Manwe, King of the Valar, she had played a large part in creating the Shepherds of the Forests. The Pool of Entwash was under her purview, as was now the life of Lady Eowyn.

Scanning the horizon, she detected hints of movement far up in the air to the extreme south. She believed it to be the Great Eagles. And she knew this to mean that the battle had now moved far from her location. But only moments after making this fortuitous sighting, the ensuing clouds of steam obscured her view as the torrential rainfall began to fall in earnest. And with the advent of night being hastened by the storm, any detection by the Lords of the Air was swept away with the sizzling embers that had blocked her path.

She had given her Palantir to High King Elessar; consequently, she was without any means of communicating with her now distant companions. Initially, she hoped that the High King knew of her survival. She had seen how adept he was at the use of the Seeing Stones. But when she reached the plain and found no one waiting for her, she began to fear that her submersion had prevented detection by that magical means. In a moment of heart-wrenching anguish, she suddenly realized that her husband probably believed her to be dead. And remembering the elements of the dream, which she had shared with Elessar, it seemed reasonable to conclude that the High King thought so as well.

She had seen the severed carcass of Nimloth while rushing into the fray to come to the aid of the High King, being grieved to see that the mighty stallion had fallen. Being so highly skilled in the lore of horses, it was clear to her that the High King's mount had died instantly. The position of his limbs indicated that they had not been moved after he fell. And she was not surprised that her own mare was absent from the sprawling prairie. She suspected that High King Elessar was now being borne upon Arabel. However, this left her with no alternative means of transportation. The grasslands stretched emptily before her.

In response to the news, which she had carried to Edoras, she knew that her brother, King Eomer, had sent riders into the far corners of the Riddermark to instruct the people to bring their belongings and flee to Helm's Deep. There had been uncertainty in how the Balrog would react when confronted and what course he might take if they succeeded in turning him aside. So, the King had chosen to safeguard his people and have them withdraw into the ancient fortress, which he had wisely repaired. So, though no one in Rohan would deny her a horse if she could only find one, she knew that West Emnet and the Westfold lay empty. In all probability, any farms that she might encounter would be as devoid of livestock as they were of people.

Even young and strong as she now inconceivably was, it would take weeks for her to walk all the way to Edoras. And it was the only other place where it seemed reasonable to think that she might find another horse. Helm's Deep was simply too far to the east, since her intention was to use the new mount to catch up with the Cavalry of Gondor. She tried desperately to come up with any alternative. And there seemed to only be one.

The River Entwade flowed southeast out of Fangorn and passed not far from Edoras before it joined with the Snowbourne to form the River Entwash. If it was not choked with debris from the forest fire, she might be able to use it to expedite her journey. She could convert her riding pants into shorts and use strips from the leggings to lash together a makeshift raft. If she were not able to find provisions in the farmhouses she passed along the way, this would also give her access to fish as a possible food source. Most of her supplies had gone with Arabel.

Deciding to find out just how much endurance her now youthful body really possessed, she set an easily maintainable pace and began the long jog southward. Occasionally, she would turn her face skywards and refresh herself with a mouthful of rainwater. Her clothes were still wet from their encounter with the pool of Entwash. So, the rain had little real effect on her attire, except that it helped to keep her cool as she ran through the unusually warm spring night, exercising the kind of surefootedness for which it was her mare that was actually legendary. As she rushed through the drizzling darkness, she wondered about the curiously green clad figure from her vision. She had to believe that he was somehow associated with what she had been sent back to do. But more than that, she worried about what Faramir might do if he now thought her dead.

Faramir had been sent to Gondor along with Treebeard. High King Elessar was appalled at the loss that had been forced upon both of them. He would hazard them no further, despite the Steward's complaints. Treebeard however was quietly compliant. And the High King was more mortified by this than by Faramir's very vocal objections to the regent's decision, not believing he would ever see the day when the Shepherd of the Forest would be cowed by any force, natural or otherwise. To him, this was more a victory for Nargurth than even the slaying of the other Ents - for though even the mightiest of creatures can be killed, the breaking of such an ancient spirit was terrifying proof of the Power of Darkness. And it weighed heavily on the High King's mind, as their Enemy surely intended.

After the Balrog entered the flaming forest and passed beyond the reach of the archers, High king Elessar began using the Palantir to search for Eowyn. He was careful to keep the Steward from becoming aware of his efforts in the event that a glimpse of her burning body could be obtained by looking over his shoulder. He had been unable to locate even her remains. And he did not know what to make of that. But he remembered the prophetic dream, which the Lady of Rohan had chosen to share with him, and he believed, as the Elves preferred to say, that her part in the tale had ended.

The one accomplishment, in which he and his forces could find any satisfaction, was that the Balrog had been forced to retreat westward in order to go south. But by the time he emerged from the conflagration of Fangorn, Nargurth would be beyond their ability to deter any further. The High King was painfully aware of this. Without the Ents, their attempts to thwart the progress of the Fire Demon would be symbolic at best. And yet, they had to try. He had to be sure that his son, High Prince Telperion, was given time to position the Army of Gondor to defend both entrances to the Land of Shadow, Morannon and the Morgul Vale.

Elessar suspected that Nargurth would opt to avoid Minas Ithil altogether, attempting to enter Mordor by means of Morannon where the Black Gate had once stood. But in order to be sure the hobbits and Middle-earth's itinerate Wizard were given enough time to complete their task; every possible access to the Black Land had to be safeguarded. Nargurth had succeeded in eliminating the Ents, whom Faramir likened to walking catapults, but he would find Gondor's machines of war blocking both possible routes to his objective.

Faramir's son, Thengel, had been charged with the defense of Osgiliath. If they succeeded in driving the Balrog back, his wrath might be turned against Gondor's newly restored capital city. Minas Tirith seemed the least likely target of all; so that is where the High King had sent Faramir, although he doubted that the Steward would stay there. It seemed reasonable to conclude that he would follow Treebeard across the Anduin at Osgiliath and take up arms against Eowyn's killer at Minas Ithil. Since Queen Arwen was already there with the Palantir, he had no way to send word directly to Minas Tirith or Osgiliath to stay the Steward's potentially suicidal course. He hoped that Faramir would turn aside if he forsook the safety of Minas Tirith and stay with his son at Osgiliath.

Knowing that their fiery foe would eventually emerge from the southeastern edge of Fangorn Forest, or whatever was left of it, High King Elessar led his forces southward. In order to produce more projectiles, they skirted the remaining woodlands and collected material for additional arrow shafts. Heads for the new weapons were however in short supply. But Gimli generously offered to use some of the Mithril, which the Dwarves had inadvertently brought along during their forced flight, to engineer exceptionally effective points for the added weaponry. Some of his companions seemed quite mortified by his proposal. But he challenged them by asking them how their wealth would benefit them if Nargurth ruled Middle-earth. They promptly surrendered their most prized possession.

Always inventive, the Dwarves surrounded a smoldering fire pit, which had been left after the passage of the inferno, with large rocks. They then added fuel from the outlying trees, which had not been scorched, and created a makeshift blast furnace. It did not get nearly as hot as those in the smithies where they were used to working. But with great industry, they finally forced the Mithril to their designs.

By the time Nargurth emerged, they had fashioned a new assortment of spears and arrows with which to greet him. And the salutation was not without effect, although what they were able to accomplish, even with their modified weapons, amounted more to harassment than to actual injury. But plagued as he was by the renewal of the aerial assault, the Balrog's progress was only moderately diminished. And had the defenders not been on horseback, they would not have been able to fall back before his advance rapidly enough to escape the flaming consequences of their tactics.

The Balrog had come forth from the fiery forest just after dawn and right on the heels of the conclusion of the High King's conversation with Radagast. Elessar was deeply concerned by the Wizard's party being in such close proximity to Dol Guldur, and by the effect that the storm and the decimation of Lothlorien were having on the Great River. He was as troubled by the news of their delay, and their resulting whereabouts, as they were by his report of the casualties. Even if they somehow managed to survive the passage of Dol Guldur, as he deeply hoped, he knew that it might still take days for them to effectively get ahead of Nargurth. And he was already starting to doubt that the Cavalry of Gondor was going to be able to give them the required time, after only a few minutes of engagement.

But he had forgotten about the Great Eagles as so, apparently, had the Balrog. The Lords of the Sky had been rendered ineffective by the forest fire. But when Nargurth emerged, they quickly followed him. With the sun just rising in the east, the direction he was heading, the approach cast no warning shadow on the ground as one of them dove on him from behind. Apparently alerted to its presence by some supernatural sense, he turned around just in time to avoid having one of his massive wings ripped off. Its highly fire-resistant talons grazed his shoulder instead as he was knocked to the ground by the impact.

A chorus of cheers greeted his discomfiture. And a hail of spears and arrows quickly fell on his shameful prostration. With a smoldering snarl, he leapt to his flaming feet. But the archers had already, and very wisely, moved out of range. Swinging his whip over his head to discourage any further such attacks from above, he charged after the retreating offenders. But the tone of the day had already been set. When the soldiers had to pause in their attack to reset and reequip, the Great Eagles would take advantage of the empty air and move in to harass the Fire Demon. The Balrog was therefore kept constantly engaged. And through the combined efforts of the Cavalry of Gondor and the Great Eagles, Nargurth's eastward progress was slowed appreciably.

Arador took charge of the detail that became responsible for circling back around behind the advancing firestorm and retrieving their weapons. To the archers, the fact that their spent rounds were so irreplaceable made them every bit as priceless as did the material with which they were tipped. But when Nargurth became aware of this practice, he began burning the shafts from the points. It was not possible for him to mar the Mithril, and he was obviously angered by his inability to make the remaining arrowheads and spearheads ineffectual for further use. But he relished the kindling of the wood that made their delivery possible.

Initially, the Cavalry of Gondor prepared much more wood for shafts than they had the ability to arm, but the supply was quickly depleted as Nargurth made it impossible to recycle the shafts of the exhausted rounds. And trees were scarce throughout the sprawling area where the plain of the Wold became the prairie of East Emnet. Soon, even the larger shafts, which had been intended for the making of spears, had to be converted into arrows. And as they were continually forced to fallback over the next several days, even the extended supply began to quickly dwindle.

Observing the Dwarves, as they expeditiously affixed the priceless points to the last remains of the wood, Elessar tried to make light of their situation, saying to Gimli, "I had hoped to open the treasury of Gondor and purchase these weapons for exhibit in the armory. They would have been an excellent testimony of how the remaining races of Middle-earth combined their resources and abilities to turn back the Darkness once again."

"I wonder if you could have afforded them!" joked the Dwarf Lord in reply. "And I hope you know that we'll need these points back, whether you can come up with more wood for us to stick them on or not!"

As the archers turned to ride back into range of their flaming target, with all that remained of the available weaponry, they discovered that their allies, the Great Eagles, had augmented their means of attacking Nargurth. The inhabitants of the expansive horse plains commonly used large stones as boundary markers. A barrage of boulders announced their new use as the Lords of the Air dropped them on Nargurth from a great height and with exceptional precision.

In order to avoid each ensuing aerial avalanche, it became necessary for the Balrog to run with his face turned skyward. The ground was uneven throughout much of the area through which they were passing. The difficult terrain, of which the horses in that region made light, in addition to the descending dangers, helped to further erode the Fire Demon's progress as the soldiers were finally forced to resort to stones and slings. But the conflict continued to move steadily eastwards and the distance to the Great River slowly diminished.

As the rugged features of Amon Hen, towards which they were retreating, began to take definition on the horizon, Arador rode up alongside of the High King. Legolas was with him. The Elf was also apparently out of ideas as he shrugged his shoulders at Elessar.

"We've about exhausted the realm of Rohan," he pointed out. He then carefully asked, "Do you have a plan for what to do next?"

"The Fire Demon's sense of direction is unerring, though I've no idea what ability guides him, but he is headed straight towards Mordor," Elessar answered. "The world however has changed much since the fall of Angband. And I hope to use the very terrain of Middle-earth itself, which is surely unknown to him, against our foe. But we must keep him from turning south. After crossing the Anduin, he will then be faced with the Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes. Even his formidable abilities will be of little aid in overcoming such obstacles. But if he slips around the south side of Amon Hen, we must try to drive him across the Great River and into the Nindalf. It might be that the Wetwang would be as effective at slowing him as the Marshes."

"But your desire then is to keep him from possibly slipping southward into Anorien and entering Gondor proper?" asked Arador.

"The Steward's wisdom in lighting the beacons alerted everyone near the White Mountains to the approach of danger. And riders were sent into every corner of Gondor to warn of Nargurth's coming. By now, everyone has had time to withdraw into the fortified cities," replied Elessar. "But Minas Tirith is the least defended of all. And it is also the place to which most of the families have fled since it is furthest from the known destination of Mordor. We must be certain that he turns eastward before he can possibly endanger the White City."

"Then I suppose we should begin to feint southwards and allow him to sweep by us," Arador concluded. "But it could just as easily be that he will violate the sanctity of Tol Brandir. It makes my blood boil to think of such a thing."

The High King used the Palantir to contact Radagast. He was relieved to find that the Wizard and his hobbit companions had crossed around Sarn Gebir and reached Nen Hithoel. There, they had finally abandoned their vessel just above the great Falls of Rauros and struck out eastward. They were now ahead of the Balrog, but just barely. Elessar indicated his intentions to Radagast, and the Wizard seemed to agree that the time had come to allow the Fire Demon to go eastward unchallenged. He further concurred that it was essential to prevent Nargurth from turning south, even if the Cavalry had to draw swords and meet their foe in a suicide attack. But Radagast also asked that Elessar immediately send some of his riders to bear the Dwarves and their Mithril to Minas Ithil, saying that he would have need of that material in order to complete the Weapon.

Elessar was unable to tell whether the Dwarves were more grieved to learn that they might yet have to part with their prized possession, and without adequate compensation, or because they were being pulled out of the conflict just when it might be coming to a climax. Lord Gimli made a feeble attempt, probably for the sake of his companions, at setting his will against that of the High King.

"We can't be expected to leave our axes behind, as if you could use them as well as we do anyway!" he expostulated. "So, if you have to stand and fight that monster, you're going to wish you hadn't sent us away from the battle!"

"It may be that I don't have to send you all," the High King agreed. "Certainly it won't require your entire number to bear the Mithril to Minas Ithil. But I know that none of you would volunteer to flee before even such a foe as we now face. And you would humiliate anyone whom you selected to send away. It is far easier for me to simply carry out the Wizard's wishes and send you all. Your duty is clear, Master Dwarf."

The way Gimli grunted before finally turning away sounded almost Entish to the High King. Elessar chose a number of his most able riders and ordered them to bear the Dwarves to Minas Ithil. Having become something of an equestrian many decades before, under the instruction of Legolas, the Dwarf Lord suddenly seized the reins from the Cavalry rider and brought the horse circling back around towards Elessar. Anticipating that Gimli had not finished his objections, the High King turned the tables by soundly charging him with an additional, exceedingly honorable duty.

"If I should fall on this field," he said firmly, holding the fuming Dwarf Lord's gaze, "defense of my Queen will be the responsibility of you and your troops. And you will not fail me in this matter. You will not suffer Arwen to fall into the hands of Nargurth. She did not remain in Middle-earth to meet such a fiery fate. We have an understanding?"

"Aye lad," Gimli quietly replied, his features visibly softening. "We'll not disappoint you."

As the horses wheeled and galloped away, Elessar turned his attention to the approaching firestorm. As expected, the Balrog began angling northward as the Cavalry of Gondor slipped to the south of its incendiary advance. To make certain Nargurth remained on his trajectory, they paralleled his route all the way to the hills at the southernmost end of which lay the lookout of Amon Hen. But then, there was a sudden deviation in his conflagrating course. He angled even further northwards.

Confused by this unexpected tactic, Elessar ordered the Cavalry of Gondor to pursue their flaming foe. He could only think that Nargurth was trying to pass above the interposing foothills, perhaps to avoid furnishing the Great Eagles with more ammunition. And it would keep him away from Tol Brandir. But Elessar had a sudden misgiving, suspecting that some other evil would be the result. And it occurred to him to wonder just how the Balrog hoped to finally manage crossing the River Anduin.

Without the harassing presence of the mounted soldiers, the Fire Demon was able to open his gait. The abrupt change in his direction also had the effect of throwing the Great Eagles off his course. Their volley missed him entirely. Knowing that it would take time for them to retrieve their ballast and carry it to altitude again, he was able to put his head down and run at full speed. The Cavalry of Gondor was very hard-pressed to pursue. They were still desperately trying to catch up with him as he swept around the northern end of the foothills.

High King Elessar experienced a sickened feeling in the pit of his stomach as the towering forms of the Argonath came into view. Nargurth adjusted his course and angled right toward them. His precise intentions towards the Gate of the Kings were unknown, but the High King had a foreshadowing of some terrible doom as he and his horsemen tried to close the distance to the fleeing firestorm.

Up into the foothills the Balrog suddenly surged, quickly putting itself on an altitude approximately equivalent with the shoulders of the massive monuments. The horses were slowed by the abrupt upgrade over which the Balrog lithely bounded. With a leap, it landed near the neck of the figure on the western side of the Great River. Swinging its fiery whip with uncanny accuracy, it wrapped the lash around the wrist of the statue's outstretched arm. With a blow that would have sundered any instrument less fell, Nargurth's sword descended on the connecting forearm, shattering it.

The Cavalry of Gondor watched in helpless horror as Nargurth violently yanked his whip and managed to spin the severed limb as it fell, causing it to form a bridge across the Great River. As the dismembered appendage reverberatingly came to rest across the feet of the two statues, the hand was also snapped off by the impact. High King Elessar was momentarily reminded of how his ancestor, Beren One Hand, had been disfigured in the course of obtaining the Silmaril.

A few heart-wrenching moments later, Nargurth had succeeded in swiftly descending to the level of his catastrophic contrivance. They were powerless to prevent his passage as the Balrog of Morgoth crossed the Great River and disappeared among the foothills on its eastern side. The Fire Demon was now beyond their reach and still on course for its ultimate destination in the Land of Mordor.

Arador bowed his head to hide his tears from the mounted soldiers around him, all of whom were too stunned to do anything but stare at the atrocious spectacle. Sitting astride his stallion, Legolas was obviously surprised and appalled. But High King Elessar wept openly. After he had finally mastered his emotions, he used the Palantir to contact Radagast.

To enable the hobbits in their journey along the portage way that led around the rapids of Sarn Gebir, the Wizard had used more of his magical ingredient to strengthen the group for the carting of their fully laden craft. After putting back out onto the water, they had then been swept swiftly beyond the Argonath. The hobbits had all made this part of the journey before. And they were keenly aware of the fact that they were one Halfling short of the previous total of four with which the fateful journey had been accomplished on that dire occasion. They missed their friend.

Of the current compliment, only Samwise had ever set foot on the eastern shore. He knew how closely the Emyn Muil pressed against the Great River on that side. And as much as he hated to admit it, had it not been for the subsequent liaison with Gollum, he and Frodo would almost certainly have wandered aimlessly until they perished amidst the razor-sharp rocks. At least, he thought, this time they were starting out with a very knowledgeable and far more trustworthy guide.

Radagast told them that he had toyed with the idea of taking the Great River all the way to Osgiliath and entering Mordor through the Morgul Vale, passing either through or by Minas Ithil. The Tower of the Moon contained items that he was going to need in order to affect recovery of the other ingredients for the Weapon. Using the Anduin would have gotten them south the fastest, and it would also have decreased the amount of walking they might have to do. But having just slipped ahead of the Balrog, he was concerned about the possible consequences of journeying northward from Mount Doom towards the Morannon in search of the fallen Rings. It was possible that they would run right into their foe as he came southward. The alternative was to leave the water and strike out across country, entering Black Land from the north. Sam could barely believe that he was fated to enter Mordor by means of the same paths that he and Frodo had almost taken before. Their initial attempt had brought them before the Black Gate.

After removing all their gear and provisions from their carefully concealed craft, Radagast immediately led them down a steep trail to the bottom of the falls. It was there that they received the news of Nargurth's disastrous crossing. He told them of a corridor that ran through the area where the Emyn Muil encountered the Wetwang. His stated intention was to follow it all the way to the Dead Marshes. Samwise expressed concerns about the impossibility of finding Gollum's secret way across that festering feature, but Radagast the Green seemed unworried. Samwise wondered what kind of supernatural solution the Green Wizard might apply to such a seemingly prodigious problem as he considered how much power their guide had already evidenced.

When they stopped to make camp that night, Radagast used the Palantir to contact Arwen. The High Queen's appearance had only changed minimally in that she now looked more like a woman instead of a girl. His experience as a family man told Samwise that it could just as easily have been the result of motherhood as of the passage of the many decades since their last meeting. But her timeless beauty was unaltered. It was difficult to conceive of the long years, which had come between, while held by the spell of her countenance. After the horrendous vision of armies of attacking Orcs, it was almost as if she were a kind of balm for their assaulted eyes.

Her voice was as soft as a gentle breeze. Her eyes sparkled like clear running water. And her smile made it seem as if she were on the verge of laughter, even though the circumstances could hardly have been more desperate. It was like having a living encounter with the spirit of Rivendell where she had been raised. They felt more refreshed by the brief conversation with her than they had been by an entire night spent in the Elven village. As a result, afterwards, they lay awake in their bedrolls and looked at the stars for many hours, remembering how the Heavenly Lights had come to their rescue. But they arose well rested anyway.

Radagast requested that the High Queen make arrangements to have the remaining Three Dwarf Rings and the one taken from the Lord of the Ring Wraiths all transported to Morannon. His intention was to use them to locate the rest of the Rings of Men, although his hobbit companions could hardly imagine how he was going to do that. Arwen responded that the Armies of Gondor were now fully deployed and there was no one to spare from the defense of the city for such a mission, but she would bring them herself.

The Halflings were ecstatic about the possibility of seeing Arwen in person. And Samwise in particular remembered that the High Queen had not even feared the Ring Wraiths. He seemed to sense that there was some other information she wished to relay but that she preferred to do so in a direct encounter. And it occurred to him to question the source of such an insight when it pertained to a member of the Elder Race. He suddenly remembered that Radagast had never answered his question.

When they finally retired from their stargazing much later that evening, they were lulled to sleep by the quiet thunder of Rauros reverberating in the background. After the conversation with High Queen Arwen, their dreams were untroubled. Although in the visions of the night, Samwise saw himself pouring endlessly over a series of maps. They were wrought with far greater detail than any he had ever seen before. And in the dream, he had the distinct impression that he was doing something very important. He awoke thinking that it might have had something to do with water, but he blamed that perception on the distant sound of the Great Falls.

The next part of their journey was through a virtual no-man's-land. They carefully crossed the southernmost shelf of the Emyn Muil while looking out over the festering fen of the Nindalf. The smell was already potent enough to rob even Pippin of his appetite. And Samwise was painfully aware that their rocky road would end where the Wetwang bled into the dreadful Dead Marshes. He kept quite about that offensive expectation as they traversed an area where few ever dared to venture.

Radagast drove them relentlessly, and none of the hobbits complained since they were only too anxious to be rid of their odious environs. To pass the time, the Wizard told them of a different corridor that had once lay between Mordor and Doriath, the Hidden Kingdom of King Thingol and Melian the Maia that used to be just to the south of the Land of Shadow. Only by the leave of the Queen of Doriath could anyone pass through her Girdle of Enchantment and cross that land. So, anyone who was not granted such access, and was trying to travel from east to west, would have only three choices. They could go far to the south, around Doriath. They could go far to the north, around Mordor; or they could hazard the corridor that lay between the two realms.

He reminded them about Ungoliant, most powerful of all the Maiar that had ever fallen in with Morgoth, and far worse than the Balrogs or even his lieutenant, Sauron. He told them that, after aiding the Great Enemy in the slaying of the Two Trees of Valinor and the rape of the Silmarils, she had lived for a time among the Mountains of Shadow. The corridor existed where the magic of the two Maiar met. And it had been a far more dangerous place than the merely abandoned waste through which their present path was taking them. He told them that Shelob, the great spider-monster of Cirith Ungol, was the last child of Ungoliant, hence the name of that sinister stairway.

He explained that the Nan Dungortheb, the Valley of Dreadful Death, had once been home to many spider-like creatures and that Ungoliant had mated with some, finally killing and eating all but her own awful offspring. The hobbits seemed anything but amused by the Wizard's choice of stories, looking around suspiciously at the overhanging crags as if they expected an eight-legged nightmare to scurry forth at them any moment. Samwise tried to bring the story to definitive, and hopefully encouraging, conclusion.

"So, what happened to her?" he asked insistently. "Did the Valar finally rid the world of her evil as well?"

"After King Thingol was betrayed and murdered by the Dwarves, whom he'd commissioned in the matter of mounting the Silmaril, Melian fled Middle-earth; the borders of Doriath were thrown open. The Nan Dungortheb ceased to be used. With no funnel to bring potential meals within her grasp, Ungoliant abandoned the Mountains of Shadow. Of her fate, no tale tells. Some have said that she departed into the forgotten south and, in her uttermost famine, finally devoured herself."

Samwise, who had somehow slipped to the head of their line, actually stopped in his tracks, spinning to confront the Wizard, as he demandingly asked, "That doesn't sound at all like wishful thinking to you, does it? Who came up with such an unlikely theory? And can't you just use the Seeing Stones to find out what happened to her?"

"The Palantiri were wrought by Feanor before ever he made the Silmarils. Later, they were given to the Numenoreans. And the Faithful brought them into Middle-earth. To such a use, as far as I know, they were never put," Radagast carefully replied. "But it wouldn't have mattered. Ever did Ungoliant weave her webs of Darkness in such a way that no oracle could clearly discern her movements. Her uttermost enchanted ability was called the Unlight. And even the Palantiri wouldn't have been unable to pierce it."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" asked Samwise with surprising sarcasm. "In order for her to remain hidden, she would still have to be alive, wouldn't she? Were the Valar not aware of it when Sauron met his fate? Is it even possible for a life force pass through the Walls of the World without their knowledge?"

Radagast frowned with obvious concern as he quietly replied, "I am one of the Istari, a Maia. I was once an esteemed member of the White Council, numbered as being one of the Very Wise; and yet, these are hard questions that you put to me, Ring Bearer. I will think upon them. And we will discuss this matter again, hopefully in far less dire circumstances."

For his part, Samwise was horrified by his own outburst. He immediately regretted not having discussed with Radagast the growing weight of the Ring on his mind. He knew that the shadow, which was formidably forming on the eastern horizon, was the Morgai; and that the other shadow, steadily growing in his mind, was the fell instrument that had been forged in the Mountain of Fire beyond.

Merry and Pippin were however looking at him as if they no longer knew him. And he could not think of a way to easily explain his attitude. Unlike himself, they had not been with Frodo after the breaking of the Fellowship at Nen Hithoel. And it was after their separation that the Ring had really started to exert its strongest hold on the Ring Bearer. He was afraid that, by the time they reached Mordor, even he might no longer know who he was.

Radagast returned to leading the way and, given the nature of the terrain, at an extremely brisk pace. Merry and Pippin rushed to pursue. Samwise allowed himself to bring up the rear of the column. It was the most immediate way to avoid the suddenly uneasy looks of his longtime friends, but it soon began to work to his disadvantage. As the jutting corner of the rocky corridor came to an end, he involuntarily sagged to his knees. The Dead Marshes lay directly before them, and beyond were the towering heights of the dreaded Mountains of Shadow. It was as if their proximity drew all the strength out of him at once. Realizing that their friend was gasping, Merry and Pippin abruptly turned around.

"What's wrong with him?" asked an alarmed Peregrin Took, addressing his question to the Wizard, as he rushed to the Ring Bearer's side.

"It's the Ring," hissed Merry, insightfully leaping to the correct conclusion.

"How can it be the Ring?" demanded Pippin incredulously. "We saw the Dark Tower fall! We were there when Sauron was destroyed! Sam has told us time and time again about how it finally went into the fire!"

Ignoring Pippin's insistence, Merry turned to Radagast, asking, "How is this possible? Why is something that was unmade still able to wield such influence?"

"Your question actually relates directly to the nature of the Maiar, and I'm not at all sure that I can give you an intelligible answer," replied Radagast slowly. "As I said, a part of our power tends to go with us in an externalized form. Queen Melian had her Girdle of Enchantment. Ungoliant had her Unlight. We Wizards have our Staves. Of course, the Balrogs hide their Dark Fire in their Shrouds of Shadow. And the Dark Lord, Sauron, had the One Ring. The only part of his power that remains has now been diffused throughout the entire lava chamber of Mount Doom. But even in that highly dispersed state, its evil endures. I should have expected this. The burden of that terrible instrument is upon the Ring Bearer once more. We should rest here for the night. We have time."

Even with more of the Wizard's special ingredient to strengthen them for the forced march, it had taken them the entire day to reach the final edge of the Emyn Muil. Twilight was already upon them. Now that they had some understanding of what was happening to their friend, the wariness of Merry and Pippin had turned to concern. And their amiably attentive expressions were softened even further by the growing shadows. The last lingering rays of the sun made the emerald eyes of the Green Wizard sparkle as Samwise raised his head to ask the most immediate question.

"How are we going to get across the Dead Marshes?" the Ring Bearer panted.

"We shall walk, Master Gamgee," Radagast replied with an impish smile. "But we shall do so by the light of day and even with its assistance. Take no thought for such trivialities. Death holds no sway over the power of the many things that yet grow in this region. A way will be open for us."

Samwise arose the next morning, surprisingly refreshed, to the smell of Pippin's fire-cooked breakfast. The Ring Bearer was the only one whose food received the Wizard's magic ingredient, and neither of the other two hobbits begrudged him the addition. It was clear that the journey was exacting its greatest toll from the member of the party who had undertaken it once before. Merry commented on the ability of the savory aroma of Pippin's cooking to overpower even the foul odor of the nearby bog.

Radagast used the Palantir to determine the location of the Balrog. They were relieved when he informed them that Nargurth had skirted the northern edge of the Emyn Muil, entering it only in order to avoid the Great Eagles while he rested. By allowing the Fire Demon to outflank them, the Cavalry of Gondor had apparently made him suspicious. He had elected to avoid the labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks, despite the supernatural sense of direction that would almost certainly have led him right through it. The untrustworthy, as Radagast reminded the hobbits, are ever distrustful.

As a consequence, Nargurth was off course, having been rerouted far to the north. And the impassable marshes, Radagast explained, would make it necessary for him to travel eastward all the way to the Dagorlad before he would be able to turn southwards again towards Mordor. They had succeeded in using the Balrog's suspicious nature to make him overly cautious. Beyond even their most hopeful expectations, the final approach of their incendiary enemy had been exceedingly delayed.

Radagast the Green repacked the Palantir. With a whimsical smile, he turned from the group and strode purposefully to the point where the very last outcropping of the rock shelf disappeared under the stagnation of the Dead Marshes. He thrust his budding Staff into the nearest mound of slimy green ground and spoke loudly.

"_Lasto beth lammen, olvar!_" he cried. "_Turcalen cuivie! Tariant tharnen romen!" _

The hobbits had been casually seated around the remains of their campfire. They involuntarily leaped to their feet in response to the effect of the Wizard's words. Leafy green tendrils erupted from the water and the exposed mounds of earth, interlacing into a raised walkway. And as the Halflings watched in amazement, it extended eastward all the way across the Dead Marshes to a point just short of the Harad Road. The way to Morannon, the mouth of Mordor, suddenly lay open before them.

Across the budding bridge they bounded. And the curious carpet concealed the carcasses of the submerged slain from their awestruck eyes as they undertook the long trek. Because of the breadth of the Dead Marshes, they were not able to complete the crossing in a single day. As the day wore on, they would frequently climb down to one of the mounds and rest beneath the shadow of the walkway, relaxing between a few of its many supporting growths. By the time evening came, they had traversed about half the total distance. They slept among the fragrant foliage of the aromatic overpass, surprised at its ability to overpower even the stench of the swamp and totally oblivious to the many ghost-lights that stretched all around and beneath them.

They could have made it to the road by the following evening. But they chose to stay another night, lounging luxuriantly on the bridge's softly supportive surface. Its pleasant perfume permeated their garments, powerfully reminding them, many days later, of the magic that had made their passage possible. When they took to the Harad Road the next morning, they were already almost in sight of Morannon. The Mountains of Shadow towered beside them as they rounded the final curve that brought them out in front of the dreaded Valley of Udun.

For many decades, Morannon had been a deserted wasteland. When the last fully-fledged incarnation of the Dark Lord was finally destroyed, and his evil will along with it, the force that had controlled the Land of Shadow vanished also. The power that had sustained Mordor was suddenly removed. Much of its terrain literally fell apart, opening huge rifts in the ground and even swallowing some of the fleeing Army of Darkness.

Through the processes of wind and erosion, some of the landscape had been leveled. But a gaping ravine still ran through the middle of the area where the Black Gate had once stood. And a number of large ridges testified to the restructuring that still remained. But the region was far from deserted. The Mouth of Mordor blistered with battlements. The Army of Gondor and its machines of war waited for the approach of Nargurth. The armor of a veritable sea of soldiers glittered and flashed in the light of the morning sun as they rushed to finish their fortifications.

One individual in particular caught the attention of Samwise. The man stood atop a raised platform, carefully directing the very organized activity around him. His armor was different than that of the other men. Whereas theirs looked silver, his looked white. The Ring Bearer suddenly realized that it was Mithril. And that, even more than his obvious authority, identified the wearer as none other than High Prince Telperion.

Frodo had left that priceless coat-of-mail with Samwise. When he traveled to Gondor after the wedding of Faramir and Eowyn, he had presented it as a gift to the infant prince. Elessar and Arwen were genuinely moved by his generosity. As the High Prince matured, he eventually outgrew the kingly gift. But Gimli and the Dwarves took it upon themselves to furnish the required material and enlarge the glittering garment. In order to personalize it, they also took the liberty of working the image of the White Tree of Gondor into its front and back. As heir to the throne, it had become a symbol of the High Prince's affiliation with the other remaining races of Middle-earth.

Prince Telperion suddenly became aware of the approaching party. Leaping down from his lofty perch, he landed squarely upon the back of his mount. The palomino mare had also been a gift, but from King Eomer. She was the sister of Arabel and rumored to also have been sired by Gandalf's stallion, Shadowfax; if, in fact, one of the Mearas can truly be referred to as someone's possession. The way she nimbly leapt the sprawling ravine and then seemed to virtually fly across the interposing distance did appear to be evidence of extraordinary ancestry.

Despite the doom that had necessitated their meeting, High Prince Telperion was grinning broadly as he reined Whitewind to an unbelievably abrupt stop. The mare's attention immediately fixed on the Ring Bearer and remained there. Samwise wondered if it were possible that she smelled the Wizard's special ingredient on his breath. Despite his many years of experience in husbandry, he found it difficult to meet her gaze. It was as if the spectral steed were somehow able to look right through him. It was hard to conceive of such an ability in something that looked to be merely an animal, almost.

"My good friends!" High Prince Telperion exclaimed. "You are well met in any circumstance! Let me show you the reception we've prepared for the Balrog of Morgoth. He may not be as welcome in Mordor as he imagines!"

"We are really just passing through, for our errand is urgent," said Radagast the Green. "But we surely have time at least to break our fast with you and your commanders. And it might even strengthen the hearts of my comrades to see your preparations. The difficult work, for which they have come so many miles, is now at hand."

With an invisible command, High Prince Telperion brought his mare quickly around and began to lead the party back to the sprawling encampment. Feeling rather foolish, Samwise tried to keep his distance and not exhale in the direction of the intriguingly observant mare.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Eight: The Shadow from the Past**

Eowyn jogged all through the night. Her youthful strength seemed unending. She had been in the proximity of the River Limlight when forced to flee into the forest. Now, she knew herself to be somewhere just to the north of the Entwade. And as the first rays of sunlight began to creep over the eastern horizon, she caught sight of the telltale glimmer of water in the distance before her.

It was actually midmorning before she finally reached the river. And she was relieved to find that it was running clear, although the banks were littered with half-burned tree limbs. Slaking her thirst, she looked around at the refuse. The fire had apparently not spread to the many trees that grew further downriver. But the Cavalry of Gondor had used them to increase their weaponry. In their industry, they had inadvertently freed up the many vines that had clung to the now-absent trees.

It immediately occurred to her that she could choose to select only branches that had been burned off to about the same length and then lash them together with the vines in order to fashion her raft. Being so fair skinned, she had already started questioning the wisdom of using material from her clothing to help in the creation. After wintering in the tower of Isengard, she was hardly in condition for the kind of prolonged exposure that her river journey would necessitate anyway. And she could see no way to incorporate a canopy into her construction.

By the time the sun began to cross into the western half of the sky, she was just completing her project. Her intention had been to use her hunting knife to prepare the ends of the vines for tying off. But as she searchingly ran her hands along the length of her enterprise, she was unable to relocate the vine endings. Further inspection led her to the incredible conclusion that they had somehow grown together. She could only wonder if her supernatural submersion had resulted in some kind of an ability to extraordinarily interact with the plant kingdom.

Not being knowledgeable in matters of shipbuilding, she failed to christen her craft. However, there was a brief ceremony just before the launch during which she offered up a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving to the Creator, and then she climbed aboard and cast off. In selecting the material for her crude vessel she had examined many of the fallen branches. One in particular she had retained because it was shaped very much like a paddle, formed by a broad knot at one end that had been burned nearly flat. It soon proved extremely useful both for guiding and helping to propel the small skiff.

Her industry had stirred up feelings of hunger. And she had nothing with which to soothe the sensation. But in its passage, the storm had cleared the sky. As the sunlight streamed down upon the uncovered portions of her skin, she found that her appetite was beginning to ebb, although she did not know what to make of such a development. Nor did she dare to suppose that she would be able to do without food indefinitely. She was also surprised that no ill effects seemed to result from the unavoidable exposure, which merely resulted in a feeling of being mildly flushed.

Seeking relief, she removed her riding boots and took to dangling her feet in the water. She was startled by the fish that began nibbling on her toes. Drawing her hunting knife, she pulled her legs up so that her feet were just barely beneath the surface. Using her twitching toes as the bait, she soon caught several fish; but she had no desire to eat them uncooked, unlike that most infamous of the Ring Bearers, nor did it prove to be necessary.

A number of farmhouses were located along the River Entwade. All were standing empty as a result of the evacuation. But in order to prevent the damage of forced entry by anyone who was determined to gain access, some of the evacuees had left their dwellings entirely unlocked. Their kitchen facilities were therefore available. Most of the foodstuffs had gone with the refugees. But as she went southwards, more and more of the country's inhabitants already had their gardens in place. And some were actually producing a few edibles. Unconsciously following the examples of Merry and Pippin in their once frequent forays to the fields of Farmer Maggot, she added some produce to her supplies.

When she did finally become fatigued, she was able to tie her raft to somebody's dock and sleep in an actual bed. She could easily have taken any of the boats that were also lashed along the watercourse. But her own craft was quite satisfactorily serving her purposes, and she would only take what she absolutely needed. In fact, it amused her to think that the little bit of produce, which she pilfered from some of the early plantings, would probably be blamed on local wildlife and not on the Lady of Rohan.

By the time she reached the place where the River Snowbourne added its strength to the River Entwade, transforming them both into the Entwash, it seemed foolish to abandon such an expeditious means of transportation and take a detour on foot. She wished to continue eastward, and Edoras was almost directly to her west.

She also knew that the waterway would eventually take her all the way to Osgiliath and that, from there, it would actually be a shorter journey by foot to Minas Ithil, if she was unable to obtain a horse, than her present distance from the capital of Rohan. But of a certainty, no one in Gondor would deny her a mount. And if she left the river, it would not be possible to make up the time she would lose even if she did find a fast horse at Edoras. From experience, she knew that the river, once it passed eastward of the Mering Stream, would be moving as fast as even Arabel could run.

She chose to continue downriver. The inhabitants of Gondor had withdrawn to the safety of the fortified cities, just as the people of Rohan had fled to Helm's Deep, so their riverside houses were also abandoned. But Eowyn continued to find sanctuary and sustenance even after passing eastward of the Mering Stream, although she only stopped infrequently. It seemed that she could go for days without rest now. But when fatigue did finally overtake her, she would have to sleep for an entire day or more.

Her dreams were very peculiar; they were filled with images of growing things and liquid light. Sometimes there were familiar faces, but it seemed as if the relationships between her and these people had changed. It was not something that she was able to understand. And Faramir was nowhere to be found in the midst of the alien imagery, although the curiously green-clad figure from her baptism seemed to almost constantly reside at the edge of her visions. Each time she awoke, she had a stronger sense of the feeling that her life now had very little to do with the life she had known before. She had been changed in some ineffable way, and so had her destiny.

She desperately wished that she had not surrendered the Palantir. She knew it was probably foolish to think that she would have been able to hold onto it when she had lost both her weapon and her mount, but she deeply regretted having relinquished the one magical medium that would have made communication with the other Keepers possible.

She was increasingly concerned that Faramir might emulate the foolhardiness of High King Elessar in trying to defeat Nargurth single-handedly. And she shuddered to think about how fey a mood the Steward might now be in if he believed that his wife had burned to death in Fangorn. She could only hope to somehow overtake him in Gondor before some sinister fate could apprehend him instead. But she had a sense that she had seen him for the last time. And thinking of Faramir, she paddled hard all the way to the River Anduin.

Meanwhile, Steward Faramir arrived at Minas Tirith without incident. But it seemed strange to be in the city of his childhood again after so many years. The White City had been horribly disfigured during the War of the Ring. For a short time, it had not even resembled the Numenorean masterpiece that he knew as home. High King Elessar had rebuilt it. And the Elves had even helped just before making that final crossing out of the history books and into the West. Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had been two of the major architects of that restructuring. Faramir had understood their passion for the work as being their wedding gift to their sister, High Queen Arwen.

Having just witnessed the slaying of the Ents and the decimation of both Lothlorien and Fangorn, its towering walls suddenly seemed unsubstantial, almost hollow, looking less like a stronghold and much more like a mausoleum. And the concrete creation's confidence abruptly appeared much more representative of conceit. Although it had stood for ages of the world, it had not always been just a bastion for goodness and justice. Darkness had held sway there once, overthrowing the mind of his own father. And as a student of history he knew that, no matter how well or how repeatedly it was rebuilt, it would eventually come to dust, just as do all men and the works of their hands.

Treebeard accompanied him all the way to the Courtyard of the Citadel, stating his desire to see the White Tree. Having been evacuated from the surrounding countryside and herded into its environs, awestruck onlookers jammed the city's streets as the Shepherd of the Forest climbed the angled walkway and made his lumbering way skyward. Observing the interaction between Treebeard and the White Tree, it was clear to Faramir that some unknown form of communication passed between the two ancient, wooden beings. The Shepherd of the Forest stayed for only moments. Faramir followed him back down. It was there that they encountered Faramir's youngest son, Eorl.

"Elfwine remained at Helm's Deep, believing he should be on hand for its defense," Eorl explained. "But as soon as we received word of what was happening, I mounted up and headed for Gondor. I thought you'd show up here eventually. Where's Mom?"

Faramir tearfully told his son of Eowyn's fiery fate. It put him in mind of his own mortality. The Steward had no desire to become a permanent addition to the catacombs. He had only barely avoided making such a contribution of his remains once before. He also knew that Grond and Gurthang represented two of the greatest weapons in their current conflict. He resolved that they should arrive on the final battlefield together. Eorl insisted on accompanying him.

Treebeard looked over his shoulder, surprised by the pursuit, but elected to say nothing. He had never known creatures, which wear skin instead of bark, to heed his counsel anyway. And he understood only too well the nature of the desperation that now drove Faramir and his youngest son.

Taking his leave of the Captain of the Guard, whom he left in charge of the defense of the White City, the Steward mounted his horse and followed Treebeard through the main gate. Eorl was with him. The people of the city were cheering as the warriors went forth. Faramir unsheathed Gurthang and let it flash in the sun, but the Shepherd of the Forest did not seem inclined to attempt any show with the dull metal of his war hammer. He could only hope that he would be given some opportunity to put it to good use, better than the brief and ultimately pointless advantage it had given them in Nimrodel.

They had not gone far from Minas Tirith when Steward Faramir put his fearsome weapon back into its scabbard. Directly ahead of them lay the newly restored splendor of Osgiliath. He knew that his eldest son, Thengel, would be there. And try as he might, he could think of no way to retell the terrible fate that had befallen Eowyn. The shadow over his heart, which had briefly ebbed when he watched the interaction of the ancient in the Courtyard of the Citadel, was taking hold again. And he hoped that he had not been denied his chance, by the offhanded dismissal of High King Elessar, to truly make a difference in the coming conflict.

High King Elessar and the Cavalry of Gondor though where in a mad gallop down the western bank of the Great River. The desecration of the Argonath stilled burned in his mind as it also did in the minds of each of his men. But there had simply been no way to effectively pursue the perpetrator. The horses could not cross the River Anduin in the same manner as Nargurth. It would have been worse than useless to try and follow on foot, and the only fords were far to the north or south.

Looking over his shoulder, his keen eyes were able to discern the Balrog's position by virtue of the Great Eagles, circling far off in the northeastern sky. The race was now on in earnest. There was no way for his forces to overtake Nargurth before the Fire Demon could reach Mordor. It was now up to High Prince Telperion and the Armies of Gondor to stay the incendiary advance as best they could, although the High King had used the Palantir to advise his son of the Enemy's route. At least they now knew where the hammer-stroke would fall.

It would not be possible for Elessar and the Cavalry of Gondor to participate in that conflict. The Great River and the interposing terrain precluded any such possibility. Their destination was Minas Ithil, for that is where Radagast the Green proposed to make his dreadful Weapon. And that is where Nargurth would also go if he actually succeeded in remaking the One Ring. The High King dared to think that the Balrog's gambit would be unsuccessful, although even he did not fully comprehend the lore of the Maiar. And the Wizard certainly did not doubt the outcome of the odious enterprise.

Upon reaching the region near the base of the Great Falls, they soon began to pass through the area where the fingers of the Entwash reached out to join the River Anduin. He was forcibly reminded of the absent member who had joined herself to his company just north of Anorien. It tore at his heart to think that Eowyn had fallen because of his foolishness. In truth, he had chosen to send Faramir away as much for his own sake as for the Steward's. The widower's presence had placed him under constant conviction. And he could not afford to be distracted by guilt.

He had to rely on the breeding of their mounts. The horses had been driven hard all the way across Rohan. And now they needed to safely and expeditiously navigate the broken waterways that interposed themselves across the only possible path. But not surprisingly, Arabel led the way.

Anorien lay empty. Even when the forces of Mordor had been gathering before the all out War of the Ring, such utter abandonment of the countryside was altogether uncommon. It was hard to consider how devastating the Balrog's campaign had actually been and in how unbelievably brief a time. The inhabitants of both Rohan and Gondor had all fully fled from their homesteads. The forests of Lothlorien and Fangorn had both been razed. As far as he knew, all but one of the Ents had been killed. And the Lady of Rohan, who had stood against and helped to slay the Lord of the Ring Wraiths, had been driven into the conflagration of Fangorn, apparently to never reemerge.

It still bothered Elessar that he had not been able to find any trace of her remains. And he was unable to operate the Palantir while sitting astride Arabel. In crossing the various small fens of the Entwash, the horse's deft maneuvers would have unseated him. The mare was easily up to the challenge, but she was relying on the vigilance of the rider to remain mounted. She was obviously used to the equestrian abilities of Eowyn. And Elessar was far too exhausted to stay in the saddle while fumbling with the Seeing Stone.

What little presence of mind he could muster in the face of his fatigue had to be focused on other considerations. The plan, as far as he understood it, was to somehow get Nargurth to come to the Weapon. But the High King knew that, if the Fire Demon succeeded in remaking the One Ring, Nargurth would be far beyond the engagement abilities of even the Great Eagles. In his mind, this posed the most serious problem; for it meant that, once he became the new Lord of the Rings, Nargurth would be able to take to the skies uncontested. It would be ridiculously easy for him to evade any attack, so something would have to be done to finally eliminate those aerial abilities if there was to be any chance of using the Wizard's Weapon.

Radagast obviously understood this, thought the High King, for he had instructed the Great Eagles to try and mar the Balrog's wings. But Nargurth was too wary. And the Armies of Gondor were ill equipped to accomplish such dismemberment; and yet, it was imperative that someone succeed in such an incendiary endeavor, although it seemed certain that they would perish in so doing. Considering how close the Enemy was to his objective, it also seemed impossible that such a necessary exploit could be achieved. The new Lord of the Rings would almost surely emerge from Mount Doom with his wings intact.

In response to this mental picture, an idea began to take shape in the mind of High King Elessar. It was almost certain to be a suicidal mission, even if Radagast were to charge the Great Eagles with the responsibility of rescuing the volunteers. But it would be the only clear opportunity to attack from behind, even though they would be assailing the wearer of the newly remade One Ring. And that made the choice of weapons and personnel very critical. He was sure that one of the swords would need to be Anduril and that he would need to be the one wielding the Flame of the West.

Since he could only be reasonably certain of inflicting one blow himself, this meant involving someone else with another sword; either Radagast with Glamdring, which Arador had said was now in the Wizard's possession, or someone else with Gurthang, probably Legolas. The Balrogs were ancient enemies of the Elves. Under no condition did he want to give Faramir an opportunity to sacrifice himself; and yet, the Steward had the other sword that needed to be allocated to the crusade.

Elessar did not want to take any chances with the only surviving member of such a beloved couple. He was sure that he would not be able to bear it if he made a choice that slew the other Steward of Isengard as well. If Faramir could not be persuaded to make the loan of Gurthang, since that would clearly exclude him from the campaign, and Radagast were too involved in the making of the Weapon to be a part of the assault team, maybe Radagast would loan Glamdring to Legolas. After all, the blade was Elven.

High Prince Telperion, Steward Thengel, and Prince Elfwine represented the future of Gondor and Rohan to the High King; therefore, he would not hazard any member of the subsequent generation anymore than he already had. As he considered these young men, now endangered by an evil of equal threat to one he had once faced himself, he sent up prayers for his only son; for he knew that the High Prince was about the engage the same fearsome force that had just defeated him.

Anxious to show the newcomers the effects of their industry, High Prince Telperion proceeded to escort Radagast and the Halflings towards the rapidly erected ramparts. He was quite obviously encouraged by the awe at the formidable fortifications, which he saw in the eyes of the hobbits.

Seeming to understand the limitations of the members of the Fellowship, Whitewind led the group along a well-trodden path. The Army of Gondor had established it for the purpose of moving the machines of war into position. It wound around the eastern side of the large central chasm that stretched across the entrance to the Valley of Udun, the very Mouth of Mordor.

Merry and Pippin had been this close to the Black Land only once before. And they were still trying to come to grips with the fact that they were now about to actually enter it. Although he had been all the way to Mount Doom by another route, Samwise had also been there once before. On that occasion, Frodo had also been present. And Gollum had led them both away from the Black Gate, conspiring with himself to deliver them up to Shelob at Cirith Ungol.

Feeling understandably apprehensive, the Ring Bearer turned to the Wizard. He discovered that Radagast had stopped. The Wizard was standing silently, facing east. Samwise followed his gaze but could not discern the source of the fixating fascination. It appeared as if Radagast were looking almost directly into the rising sun, a behavior that Samwise was unable to imitate.

"What's the matter?" he quietly inquired, hoping the sound of Whitewind's hoof falls would mask his question from the rest of the group.

"I'm not sure, Master Gamgee," replied Radagast the Green in a tone that made him sound very distant. "Something on the eastern horizon defies my vision. Perhaps it is only the reflection of the morning sun off the far Sea of Rhun. But it reminds me of an effect, a method of tricking the eye that I witnessed once, long ago. And it can't possibly be present in Middle-earth. It's too bad we don't have the time to investigate this now. But our errand cannot wait. Nargurth is coming."

Choosing to respond to the part of the Wizard's reply that disturbed him the least, Samwise asked, "You can see that far?"

"The vision of the Maiar can be made to follow the curvature of the world," Radagast replied. "That's how Nargurth is able to find his way to Mordor. That's how Sauron was able to precisely locate Frodo whenever your friend succumbed to the temptation to put on the One Ring. It's how Melian was able to tell Luthien what had happened to Beren and King Finrod Felagund. We are the very definition of far seeing, almost as much so as the Valar. It is this ability that Feanor was emulating when he created the Palantiri. He modeled the Seeing Stones on this natural capacity of the Powers; but by utilizing them, we can see through many interposing objects and even beneath the surface of the earth itself, to a certain extent. "

Their conversation had not actually gone completely unnoticed; though if the High Prince had overheard its beginnings, he chose not to make any mention of it as he commented, "Speaking of the Seeing Stones, my mother and my sister have asked that you meet them at Isenmouthe, after of course you finish your breakfast. Even though I was but a child when we last met, Ring Bearer, I remember very well how seriously you and your friends take your banquets."

Pippin grinned. Merry snickered. And Radagast actually chuckled. Before long, the amusement was infectious. The soldiers, into whose work area the trail first led, had not been in on the joke. They were encouraged nonetheless to see that the members of the party, whose dangerous task was not unknown to them, came with laughter into the place where the Black Gate had once stood. It was quite possibly the most profound expression of their prior victory in the War of the Ring. In response, the Halflings were baffled as they were greeted with a chorus of cheers.

The breakfast, which was swiftly set before them, truly was nothing short of a banquet. The entire company took great comfort in their ability to feast so flamboyantly in an area that used to represent the very materialization of malevolence. They laughed as they ate. And then they sang.

When they finally finished the festivities, the party turned their faces southwards. The Valley of Udun stretched before them. The ashen Plain of Gorgoroth waited beyond. But they were also encouraged to think that an Elven presence now awaited them there. Neither Merry nor Peregrin could believe that Arwen and Laurelin, the High Queen of Gondor and her daughter, would dare the dreaded Land of Shadow, and apparently without escort. But Radagast and Samwise did not seem particularly surprised. And it was very apparent that Telperion was quite used to such Elven audacity.

Taking their leave of the High Prince and the Armies of Gondor, the Halflings followed Radagast the Green into Mordor. After several minutes of shuffling over the excruciatingly uneven terrain, Samwise and Merry both realized at approximately the same time that they were hearing some other noise besides the scraping of the loose gravel from beneath their footfalls. Turning as one person, they discovered that it was the chattering of Pippin's teeth.

Despite having been in the Land of Shadow once before, Samwise was not familiar with the particular place through which they were passing, nor had he ever planned to extend his limited knowledge. And he was not sure what he might be able to say that would reassure the Keeper.

He thought however that some discussion might help to distract them from their discontent. And he recalled once more that he and Radagast had never concluded the conversation they started at Rhosgobel. But since that might only lead them out onto even more shaky ground, he feared, it seemed more reasonable to select something much more historic in nature. After he pondered the possibilities for a moment, a different kind of question suggested itself. Tugging on the garments of the guide, the Ring Bearer posed his query to Radagast.

"When you were talking to us about your membership on the White Council and being one of the Istari, you said there were actually Five Wizards," said Samwise. "What became of the other two? We only know of three."

"Yes, I'd like to know that too!" interjected Pippin, brightening. "Merry and I were there at the foot of the steps of Isengard when Gandalf finally confronted Saruman after the Ents destroyed his army there. Even he made some kind of comment about the Staves of the Five Wizards!"

"Yes," agreed Merry. "I remember that too, now that you mention it."

"The other two members of my order journeyed into the east," Radagast replied. "If they had been less successful in their mission, a far larger group of the Easterlings would have joined with Sauron in his final bid for power. Not all Men count themselves as being the friends of either the Elves or the Powers of the West. Some ventured westward, during the Elder Days, only to turn around and return to their homelands later, intentionally forsaking any such affiliation. They knew all too well that much of the evil in Middle-earth had originated in Valinor. Of course, the presence of Morgoth and his minions was not the fault of the Elves. But some of the Mortal Race, who found themselves in the middle of their dispute, wanted no part of it. And when they were forced to take sides, some chose the path of dominion, seeking to subjugate. Even in the Wars of Beleriand it was not uncommon for some segment of the human population to ally itself with Darkness. This ancient tendency was something upon which the Dark Lord was relying. And two of us were sent to mitigate that possibility."

"Were they supposed to also take part in the War of the Ring, perhaps even uniting some of the Easterlings against Sauron?" Pippin pressed.

"There was another objective to their mission, but it didn't relate to the people of the East," replied Radagast. "They had accepted responsibility for finding a way to thwart an unseemly possibility."

"What do you mean?" asked Merry.

"The Enemy made a profession out of being a deceiver many long ages ago," the Wizard responded. "So, we were unsure if there was any accuracy to the rumor that had reached our ears. We thought, and really hoped, that it was just an attempt on the part of Sauron to undermine the resolve of his opponents. But in the event that this unverifiable threat turned out to be real, we needed a contingent of our group to focus on finding a defense. The craft of these two emissaries seemed the most appropriate for the task; and we knew the Eye of the Enemy would be gazing westward, not in the direction they were going."

"What threat are you talking about?" asked Samwise, pausing to adjust his course across the treacherous terrain.

"We had heard a report of unknown reliability that a Dragon was yet alive in Middle-earth," responded Radagast carefully, "and had entered into the service of Sauron. But I think it's now safe to say that the rumor was untrue. Nevertheless, the two Wizards, who journeyed into the East, had also undertaken to contrive a method of dealing with such a threat if it really existed."

"Smaug was an extremely dangerous creature! I heard Bilbo talk about him on many occasions," said Samwise. "And Gandalf wasn't even the one who finally sent that worm back to the abyss. How exactly do Wizards go about designing a defense against such a monster?"

"As you may recall, Morgoth took ordinary animals and transmuted them into things like Dragons and Wargs," Radagast reminded them. "Their idea was to create a type of animal that would both be a natural enemy of the Dragons and capable of killing them. They were never called upon to produce their final solution. There was never any need for its use. The rumor, obviously and thankfully, turned out to be false."

"Maybe the rumor came from someone who'd seen those flying things that the Ring Wraiths rode," Pippin suggested, shuddering. "From a distance, I can see how one could easily have been mistaken for a Dragon."

"Where did those things come from anyway?" demanded Samwise, interrupting. "I don't think I even know what they were called!"

"As much success as you've had in poking fun at the wisdom of the White Council," answered their Green Guide guardedly, "I'm really not sure I even want to admit this to you, Ring Bearer. The origin of those horrible creatures is not known; hence, their type was never given a name. They were apparently bred for the sole purpose of bearing the Ring Wraiths, and there is no evidence that any survived after the Nazgul fell. I can only suggest that Sauron learned enough from Morgoth to undertake such awful industry. For my part, however, I wouldn't have thought him capable of such an endeavor in his highly diminished form. But they were a product of sorcery, not nature; of that much I am sure.

"However, the rumor of which I'm talking, Master Peregrin, did not refer to a Flying Dragon, of which I believe Smaug was the last. There were once three different kinds of Dragons, all created by Morgoth and Sauron. The most formidable was the race to which Smaug belonged. There were also the Cold Drakes, who lacked both fire and the ability to fly. It was a Cold Drake who slew King Dain the First and drove Durin's Folk out of the Ered Mithrin, the Grey Mountains. But it seems that Morgoth's original mutation, the one from which the others were derived, were the Uruloki, the Fire Drakes. During the First Age, they were by far the most common type. The Flying Dragons first appeared in the Great Battle, during which we believed that the Uruloki were all slain; although, it's quite apparent now that members of both other races survived. So, when we heard this rumor that one of the Fire Drakes had also endured, we had to take it seriously."

"But you don't have any idea whether the other two Wizards succeeded in creating a natural enemy for such a Dragon, or even what such a creature would have looked like?" Merry asked, almost accusingly.

"I'll have you know that I'm not totally clueless, Master Meriadoc!" the Green Wizard retorted. "I have to believe they were successful. After all, they accepted the assignment. And contrary to what some members of this group seem to think, we Istari always make good on our promises! As for the manner of beast they were redesigning, I know it was based on the horse. And that is yet another reason it seemed best to send the enterprise eastward. Had they come to understand our industry, the Riders of Rohan would almost certainly have taken exception. So, I trust that you will keep this between us, Esquire?"

"And what possible chance could a horse have against a Dragon, even if it had been somehow redesigned?" Merry asked incredulously.

"Not all by itself!" exclaimed the Green Wizard. "Horses are herd animals. They act as a group. I never actually saw the finished product, but my understanding was that the stallion had been given the ability to fly so it could act as a decoy and draw the Dragon's fire. And the mares were supposed to each have a magical horn, sharp enough to easily pierce the monster's hide. By acting in concert, they would therefore be able to slay even the very worst of the worms. And I'm certain the other members of my order succeeded, although I don't know what became of their Heroic Herd. Perhaps they are freely roaming the open expanses of the East even still. With a flying stallion to guide them, it would be easy to evade any pursuit. And magically armed as they are with a spike that can pierce any known material; if anyone was actually able to corner one or more of the mares, they would quickly find that it was an exceedingly hazardous idea to force such a confrontation."

"Did the other Wizards go back into the West with Gandalf and the Elves?" asked Merry, sounding hopeful of a negative response.

"They weren't on the same ship as Gandalf and Frodo. But, except for Legolas, they all left Middle-earth many years ago," answered the Wizard, his tone almost wistful. "I am all alone now."

"None who have seen the Far Shore are ever truly alone again," said a female voice suddenly, and from somewhere impossibly close at hand.

The three hobbits turned with a start towards the source of the sound. There stood the High Queen, Arwen, and her daughter, High Princess Laurelin. Their Elven cloaks were precisely the same color as the nearby boulders against which the two ladies were leisurely reclining. But where the edges trailed against the terrain, which was of a slightly different hue, they were also totally indiscernible. A beautiful maiden who had fully come of age, Laurelin nevertheless giggled at their surprise.

"We meet again, Arwen Undomiel," said Radagast with a bow. He then playfully chided the two by adding, "I was wondering when the two of you were going to say something. Perhaps I should have alerted the hobbits to your presence. You should be ashamed of yourselves for startling them like that."

"Were you waiting indeed?" quipped the High Queen, winking at the Ring Bearer. Samwise was clearly suspicious of the Wizard's statement. "Oh my. I'm ever so sorry. Perhaps we should disappear again and try to reveal ourselves in a much more acceptable manner."

The hobbits could not contain their amusement at her affected apology any longer. They burst out laughing. Radagast simply pursed his lips and nodded, as if conceding the point. The mirth in the High Queen's eyes had completely undone the strength-sapping spell of Mordor, far more than the Wizard's history lesson had been able to do. The two apparently Elven emissaries then abandoned their boulders and approached the party. Arwen addressed the Halflings.

"It has been far too long, my friends," she said softly, "even for one who has seen the years pass like mere seasons. Whatever journey awaits you when this matter is concluded; you surely must be the honored guests of Gondor for a time, first."

She then introduced them to Laurelin, the High Princess. The radiant loveliness of her linage was quite apparent in the fineness of her features. Her eyes were the color of a mist on the sea. And the sound of her voice, as she greeted each of them in turn, was as smooth as stones in a babbling brook. Her beauty was easily as elegant as that of her mother, High Queen Arwen, or her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel. It stood in stark contrast to the devastated desolation of the bleak background.

"I have brought the items you requested," said Arwen, turning to Radagast. "But I also bring you a warning. The Black Land may yet contain a danger almost as grave as the one posed by its former occupant. Shelob is no longer at the top of the Stairs of Cirith Ungol, nor did she descend into the Morgul Vale. In short, we do know what has become of her. But we fear that she inhabits one of the many pits, which are scattered throughout this region. And they are the very darkling depths that you will have to plumb in order to retrieve the materials for your Weapon. Take care. Those who are in your charge must not be put at risk."

"I don't understand," interjected Samwise, before the Wizard could respond. "Can't you just use the Palantir to see where she is?"

"The Palantir can be a very valuable tool; although it proved useless for the other application towards which I tried to employ it, for I also used it to look for Eowyn," High Queen Arwen replied. When she saw how the Halflings reacted to this admission, she explained. "After Elessar and the Balrog parted company at the Argonath and I no longer had to fear another direct confrontation between them, I turned my attention towards finding the Lady of Rohan; although I feared to find only her ashes. I scoured the grasslands from Fangorn all the way south to Edoras, without luck. I even searched the plains eastward in case she had chosen to follow the horsemen on foot. But I was unable to locate even a trace of her."

"Did you look inside what was left of the forest?" asked Merry heavily and with understandable hesitation. Then he added, "If you know of a certainty that she is dead, please tell us plainly. I'd rather mourn for her appropriately than be deceived by false hope."

"Let us never say that hope is false, Wraith Slayer," answered Arwen softly, "although we are sometimes disappointed. But often it is all that stands between the Darkness and us; and yet, it is never tinged. I thoroughly explored the charred area where Fangorn used to stand. I could find no remains. My search did however yield a peculiar discovery. There's a pool near the center of the wreckage. And it contains a power far more ancient than any other in all of Middle-earth; with the exceptions of Radagast and Treebeard, unless the White Tree and its saplings should also be named. And the grace of the Valar yet abides in those unfathomable depths. Never have I looked upon the face of any one of the Powers, for never have these mortal feet walked upon the Far Shore. Valinor is unknown to me, save for what I have learned from the lore of the Elves. But the Outer Sea does not hinder them. And they are yet at liberty to come and go between the Blessed Realm and Middle-earth at will, even as Ulmo did when he appeared to Turin. And I believe that the will of Yavanna may now hold sway over the fate of the Steward and Lady of Rohan."

"But what about Shelob?" Pippin quickly reiterated. "How could a creature that size possibly avoid detection? Sam told us how incredibly big she was, and I don't think he was exaggerating!"

"I doubt very much that he was," Arwen agreed, softly smiling at Samwise. "The Ring Bearer would be honest to a fault if it weren't for his modesty. But to answer your question; Shelob is the offspring of Ungoliant. That evil Maia never sought the kind of dominion which Morgoth, Sauron, and Nargurth have all craved. Her alliance with the Great Enemy was brief and for a specific purpose, to attack Valinor. Morgoth needed her because of her ability to cast Webs of Darkness and mask their approach. During the attack, they slew the Two Trees of Valinor and he stole all three of the Silmarils into which their Light had been infused. Nearly undone was he by the power that he had lent to her for the purpose of their assault; for she turned on him and would have devoured him as well when he withheld from her the booty of the Silmarils, but they had fled towards Angband. He cried out and summoned his Balrogs, and they drove her off of him with their fiery whips. Fleeing before them, she journeyed southwards and abode for a long while in the Mountains of Shadow. There, she mated with some of the spider-like creatures of that area, finally devouring all but her own evil offspring. Shelob inherited some of her mother's powers. Her webbing and her presence cannot be discerned with the Palantir. Only of her absence at the top of the Secret Stair can I be certain, for that was certified at great peril."

"But why would she be in one of these pits?" Pippin pressed. "Why would she not go where game was much more plentiful?"

"Not just any of the pits, Keeper," she gently corrected him. "Specifically, the pits where the Rings are located. A desire for riches is not uncommon among the servants of Darkness. Almost as great as the Balrogs, which are Maiar, were the Dragons; though they were creatures that had been refashioned according to the Great Enemy's designs. Perhaps you'll even recall that it was normal for them to gather up treasure hordes, just from reading about the adventures of Bilbo. As for Shelob, the Rings also represent bait. For any treasure hunter, whom she might ensnare while attempting to recover such an item, might very well possess other icons that she could turn to her advantage."

"You mean like a Palantir, or the Phial of Galadriel, or the hilt of the sword that slew the Lord of the Ring Wraiths?" Samwise asked rhetorically.

"Precisely," answered Arwen. It was the first time they had seen her frown.

It was a strange light that burned in the Ring Bearer's eyes as he continued, "Well, I've got another heirloom that I'll be more than happy to share with her. In fact, she might even remember the bite of Sting!"

As he named it, he unsheathed the Elven blade with such force that it sparked on the sheath and momentarily glowed blue before returning to its sparkling, natural luster.

"That she may!" replied the High Queen with a fey smile. "But just be sure she feels your Sting first! With Radagast and Glamdring also among your number, however, your party should easily be a match for her now that you know to be on your guard."

"Right!" snorted Merry. "We were being pretty lackadaisical about this whole Mordor thing up until now!"

The High Princess laughed at the Esquire's banter. The sound was almost musical. Even the Ring Bearer had to chuckle at his companion's levity. High Queen Arwen used the interruption to execute the transfer of materials as she swiftly produced a pouch and opened it to reveal four shining circlets. They were the remaining Three Dwarf Rings and the Ring of the Lord of the Ring Wraiths. The Halflings looked on in wonder as the Staff of Radagast the Green actually changed shape so that they could be slipped over the tip at its base.

As Radagast pointed the Ring-tipped end of the Staff out over the desolate Plain of Gorgoroth, Pippin asked, "What's that going to do?"

"My Staff will now be able to lead us directly to the remaining Rings," Radagast replied. "I've eliminated the guesswork."

"Right, all except for whether or not the indicated pits are unoccupied!" exclaimed Merry. His eyes then fixed on a feature of the landscape, towards which the Wizard and his Staff were inadvertently pointing, and he continued, "Wait a minute. There's a gap in the mountains to the southeast. For some reason, I thought Mordor was completely encircled by them."

"That's the pass that leads to the bitter Sea of Nurnen," Pippin replied. When he noticed the questioning looks on the faces of his two longtime friends, he explained, "Unlike you, I didn't have to spend time in the infirmary after the battle. Aside from attending to you, I had to pass my time somehow. They have the most wonderful maps in Gondor and I spent many hours pouring over them."

Pippin missed the startled look on the Ring Bearer's face as Merry rejoined, "But that makes no sense. I don't see any sign of a fortification in that area, or even a road. Why would every other entrance be guarded except that one? The Black Gate was at Morannon and Minas Morgul stood at the entrance to the Morgul Vale. Why would Sauron just assume that he was unassailable from that direction?"

"Actually, Master Meriadoc, there was once a road that led through that region;" interjected Radagast, "although I really don't think it was used very much. When the power that preserved this place was undone, it must have vanished along with some of the other landscape."

"Did it once lead to Doriath then?" asked Merry. Before the Wizard could answer, he added, "You said Doriath used to be just to the south of Mordor and that a conduit existed between its northern border and the Mountains of Shadow, where the power of the two Maiar, Melian and Ungoliant, ran into each other. So, did she guard the back entrance to Mordor for Sauron? Was that her land?"

Arwen started to say something; but Radagast, sounding rather perturbed, forcefully replied, "Never has any report of any kind of allegiance between Sauron and Ungoliant reached the ears of the wise!"

Merry sounded very much on the defensive, bristling as he asked in reply, "What makes you think that it would? As invisible as you've made her sound, couldn't she have easily remained hidden here? How would you have become aware of her presence in a land that was under the Shadow of Sauron's dominion? Don't you think that's the least bit presumptuous?"

"The notion of the two of them entering into any kind of alliance is absurd!" retorted Radagast. "She had become, for all intents and purposes, the opponent of Morgoth. And Sauron was his trusted lieutenant!"

"And then Morgoth was utterly vanquished by the Valar," the Ring Bearer quietly interjected, fixing his gaze upon the High Queen, as he continued, "I think that would have been a rude awakening for the other forces of Darkness that were still in Middle-earth. Someone once said: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Perhaps it had become a matter of mutual survival. Perhaps Sauron was searching for a way to close his back door. Perhaps Ungoliant wanted to maintain a vantage point from which she could keep an eye on the success or failure of the Dark Lord's bid for power over Middle-earth. Perhaps she was just cunning enough to make use of his Shadow."

"But the Black Land lies open before us!" objected Radagast. "And she is clearly not here!"

"When Sauron was overthrown," Samwise answered in an unassumingly even tone, "she could no longer use his Darkness to aid her concealment. But the eruption of Mount Doom might have helped to hide her escape. And I would think that the proximity of the newly revealed heir of Numenor would have necessitated her departure."

"Then just where, pray tell, do you think she went?" demanded Radagast, his tone bordering on sarcasm.

Suddenly turning to Pippin, and away from the increasingly unfriendly form of Radagast, the Ring Bearer asked, "What can you tell me about the Sea of Rhun?"

"It's a freshwater sea, not far to the northeast of Mordor," answered the Keeper. "Mountains border its southwestern side. A forest rims its northeastern edge. Back during the war, there were some men from that region who allied themselves with Sauron."

"And that is why we have long feared an alliance between Mirkwood and Rhun," interrupted High Queen Arwen, "even though Elessar forgave them and sent them away in peace. This is the reason we have been using the Palantir to keep a watch on that land; or, more precisely of late, a watch on the land between – for I am no longer able to clearly ascertain what is transpiring in the area of the freshwater sea. We had come to the conclusion that an allegiance had been formed and that some type of sorcery had been supplied to the inhabitants of Rhun by the dark forces of Mirkwood in order to defeat our surveillance. This other possibility is altogether unconscionable, so much so that I hardly dare to even consider it."

"And there is precious little that we hardly dare," added the High Princess, Laurelin, the tone of her voice revealing the steel of the Eldar and none of the youthful grace that was so evident in her form.

Samwise was still facing Arwen. The High Princess was right beside her. And His gaze was immediately drawn to Laurelin as she abruptly entered the conversation. He caught a glimpse of the fire in her eyes. At their first meeting, he had thought that she exuded the sweetness of cream-covered strawberries freshly picked in the Shire spring. For a brief moment, however, the veneer of her beatific physical countenance became transparent. The Ring Bearer suddenly realized that, not unexpectedly for the daughter of Aragorn and Arwen, within the Elven-appearing maiden's breast beat nothing less than the heart of a lion.

"And then, there are the constraints of time," said the High Queen, speaking into the sudden silence. "Nargurth is coming. The task, which you have traveled so far to accomplish, now awaits you. For our part, the two of us must return with all speed to Minas Ithil if we are to arrive ahead of the High King. We come and go as we please, even in times of danger. But it would not serve the purposes of marital bliss for Elessar to arrive and find us absent."

After the increasingly confrontational conversation, High Queen Arwen's attempt at humor was uproariously received. High Princess Laurelin laughed and giggled girlishly, obviously amused by the ploy. And after embracing each of the company in turn, the Elven emissaries spun about and vanished into the landscape with outrageous ease. It felt good to part with laughter and smiles, but the very promptness of the disappearance left the Halflings feeling as though they had just emerged from a dream. The presence of the four circlets on the Wizard's Staff however testified otherwise as, once again, he aimed it out over the ashen plain.

"This way," he said quietly.

Placing their hands unconsciously upon the hilts of their weapons, they followed the Wizard across the tortured terrain. Mount Doom slumbered sinisterly in the background as they passed through the gap at Isenmouthe and entered Gorgoroth proper. As nearly all-encompassing as the mountains were, it was almost as if they were actually stepping into some kind of huge crater. Samwise thought for a moment about the possibility of something falling from the sky and creating such an impression. Then he remembered that one of the Silmarils had gone into the heart of the earth through the very throat of Orodruin and he realized that his comparison might not be that inaccurate. He decided however not to share it with his companions.

The traumatized topography was replete with pits. It was immediately apparent that, without the aid of their winnowing Wizard, they could easily have spent the rest of their unnatural lives in looking for the remaining Rings. And even if Shelob was not to be found in any of the nearby depressions, other pestilent possibilities appeared plentiful.

However, nothing stirred anywhere in all the ominous scenery. Although now finally bereft of its former odious occupants, the landscape was still forsaken by the furry and flying forms that would normally inhabit a prairie. The few hardy shoots, which sprang up from out of some of the cracks, looked mostly brown and withered. Little green was to be seen. Even after decades of potential reclamation, life had been unable to secure any kind of effective foothold in the Land of Shadow.

Had Samwise known just how fertile volcanic soil usually is, he would surely have been even more shocked by the sterile surroundings. As it was, Radagast was the only one who was aware of the rebounding resilience of the ravaged realm. His emerald eyes detected signs of life far below the threshold of even Elven vision. He pondered its protective possibilities as they plodded along.

After skirting the edges of a seemingly endless series of chasms for many hours, Radagast finally led them directly to a narrow pit. Supporting each other, the hobbits took turns leaning forward and peering down into the darkness. The glittering green of the Wizard's Staff provided just enough illumination for them to barely descry an answering sparkle. Turning to Radagast, Pippin looked momentarily hopeful.

"Can't you just levitate it up?" he asked.

Radagast seemed to consider several scathing replies; but then, considering the danger into which the Keeper had freely followed him, decided that such ridicule was unwarranted.

"No, I cannot. And if I try to effect its retrieval through the use of plants or their roots, there's a risk of knocking it so far down into the abyss that it would be beyond all reach," he softly replied. He then suggested, "Perhaps you can make up for my shortcoming."

It was a curious range of emotions that played out on the Keeper's face in the next several moments. He first looked surprised, even amused; then, he looked disbelieving. For a brief time, he appeared truly scared. But then, he squared his jaw and suddenly looked like the Guard of the Citadel who had rushed to the aid of the White Wizard.

"Very well, Radagast the Green," he said firmly, shrugging off his personal effects and letting them fall to the ground. "How do you want to do this?"

The Wizard drilled the Ring-bearing end of his Staff into the hardened ground at the edge of the slender shaft. There was an immediate outcropping of tendrils. They roped into the blackness below.

"Once you have the Ring in your possession, just hang on. You needn't climb up," Radagast advised him. "I am at least able to use the vines to draw you back up out of the pit. I just lack the kind of finite control necessary to do as you suggested."

Taking a moment to look around cautiously first, Pippin took hold of the clump of vines and tested their strength. Apparently satisfied with the result; he sat down, swung his legs out over the edge, and proceeded to shimmy down into the darkness. His companions listened to the shuffling sound of his descent. It was becoming late afternoon, and the mountains were already beginning to send their shadows across the ashen plain. Both Merry and Samwise struggled to keep their composure as Pippin disappeared into the pitch black of the pit.

The Ring Bearer however was reassured by the fineness of the fissure. Spiders are famous for being able to squeeze into very small places. But he knew of Shelob's substantial girth, which he had not misreported to his friends. He was certain that there was no way she could be lying in wait at the bottom of such a narrow enclosure. So, he was not at all surprised when, after only a few anxious moments, Pippin signaled that he was ready to return to the surface. And the Keeper emerged with the first recovered of the fallen Rings of Men. Radagast quickly slipped it onto his Staff with the other Rings. Seven yet remained.

Not surprisingly, the Nazgul all fell within fairly close proximity to each other. And most of the other Rings were therefore scattered in the nearby chasms. Not to be outdone by their comrade, Samwise and Merry, respectively, volunteered to extract the next two Rings. And the Ring Bearer ended up being very glad that he opted for the second shaft, for the third pit proved to be an almost claustrophobic catastrophe.

The narrow ledge, upon which the third Ring had come to rest, was dozens of meters down what really amounted to nothing more than a little slit in the ground. Merry nearly got stuck about halfway down and only summoned the courage to complete the task when Pippin offered to take his place. With renewed determination, the Esquire of Rohan forced his way down the remainder of the shaft, using his knife to widen the constraining corners while being careful not to dislodge the Ring with the rebounding refuse. He emerged victoriously.

Pippin recovered the fourth Ring, and they had retrieved half the required number. Having abstained from food ever since breaking fast with High Prince Telperion, and it now being about dinnertime, they elected to take a break and eat. But they ate hurriedly, knowing that, for safety's sake, they really needed to complete their dangerous work before darkness totally engulfed the Land of Shadow. They had still seen no sign of Shelob.

The next group of pits seemed to have opened a honeycomb of underground fissures. The fault caves had made it possible for the remaining Rings to take bounces while they were descending deep into the earth. Samwise had to worm his way down an exhaustive tunnel in order to retrieve the fifth Ring. The shattered landscape could easily have accommodated an ambush. Painfully aware of the possibility, he was even more mentally fatigued than he was physically drained by the time he finally completed his recovery.

The sixth Ring had gone down a similar tunnel. But that tunnel extended back from the side of a gaping hole in the ground. And at the other end of its yawning maw, where it opened onto the labyrinth of underground fissures, were telltale traces of webbing. Pippin and Samwise scrambled down to a spacious ledge, which was just below the entrance to the tunnel, and stood guard with their swords drawn. Radagast circled around and stood above the spider signs, with Glamdring at the ready. But Merry secured his second trophy without incident, and only two Rings remained.

Ring number seven was easily obtainable, so much so that Radagast retrieved it himself. In doing so, he allowed the others to take a break, although this also altered the order in which they would have made the next descent. And as it turned out, this was fortuitous in the extreme.

Standing at the edge of the last pit, somewhere in the darkling depths of which was the last remaining Ring, they were alarmed to understand that their greatest challenge was now at hand. The most inaccessible of all eight Rings had somehow been allocated to the end of the lineup. And twilight was closing its grip around the Land of Mordor. Pippin panted as he plodded around the mouth of the shaft, confirming his worst suspicions. There were overhangs that would prevent a direct descent from above. If he was going to have to do this, he was going to need lots of help.

"I don't know if I should even be doing this one," he suggested experimentally. "I got the first Ring. How did I also end up having to get the last one as well?"

"Many who were first shall be last," replied Radagast cryptically. "Fear not, thou Guard of the Citadel, for we shall surely assist you. Merry and I will climb down with you. Samwise will need to stand guard for us. He has experience with our potential foe, and a weapon which she knows."

Night fell, like the rocks that they scrapped over the edge in their passage. Samwise took up a position near the mouth of the pit. Radagast the Green had not explained how he intended to facilitate the final retrieval. Consequently, the Ring Bearer's attention was focused mostly on his companions and their industry. He was aware of a large crack in the side of the chasm, about a quarter of the way around its circumference. But he had no idea that he and his friends were being watched or of the sinister consideration that was being brought to bear on their precarious proximity, despite having been warned that Shelob was probably using one of the Rings as bait. And she very much was:

_**The Last Monster of Mordor**_

(_The Slaying of Shelob_)

"_I am Shelob_

_I am Shelob_

_Welcome to my domain_

_I am Shelob_

_I am Shelob_

_I'll free you from all of your pain_

_Come right into my lair_

_I'll treat you to my tender care_

_Once you've sampled my sting_

_I swear you won't feel a thing_

_Stick around_

_I am renowned_

_(for)_

_I am Shelob_

_I am Shelob_

_And I won't let you down_

_I am the offspring of Ungoliant_

_She made alliance with Melkor_

_killed both the Two Trees, like defoliant_

_and darkened all of Valinor_

_(That's right, she did)_

_After he had stolen all of Feanor's jewels_

_making all the Valar and the Elves look like fools_

_Ungoliant demanded that he give her the spoil_

_Ravenous had she become from all of her toil_

_Ungoliant and Melkor fought_

_That day he nearly came to naught_

_He cried aloud and shook the hills_

_while holding back the Silmarils_

_But Angband lay quite close at hand_

_With whips of fiery reprimand_

_his Balrogs came and drove her from their land_

_Ungoliant to the Ephel Duath fled_

_Ungoliant filled those passages with dread_

_Ungoliant, with the spiders that she bred,_

_finally gave rise to me!_

_I'm beautiful, as you see!_

_Once you look on my face_

_all your troubles erase!_

_When it comes to hospitality_

_I am the very epitome!_

_Though you might find this hard to believe_

_none of my guests ever leave!"_

Peregrin and Sam, Radagast and Merry walked

on the ashen plain, looking in the pits as they talked

Some of the Nine Rings from the darkling pits they'd retrieved

Fearing other things, which they still might find, they were grieved

They knew Shelob was somewhere with them in Mordor

And from what they'd heard, they'd all learned to abhor her

Little did they know, she was closer than they had thought

trying to see a way they could be caught!

Samwise soon understood that the Wizard's intention was to form a living chain. This would make it possible for Pippin to make a grab that would otherwise have been beyond his reach. It was still going to be a tricky maneuver, and he watched with rapt attention as his friends prepared for its execution. In order to provide additional support, Radagast encouraged further growths from the side of the chasm. His muttered words echoed strangely up and down the rocky circumference of the shaft.

The bouncing waves of sound distracted the Ring Bearer from his fixation on the trio as he glanced around at the locations from which the reverberations seemed to emanate. This is how his attention happened back upon the large crack in the shaft's side. A frown unconsciously crept across his face as he noticed reflected light from a collection of points within its unknown space.

Samwise was undistracted from his vigil by Pippin's loud announcement of success. Had he looked away, he would not have observed the motion as the points of reflected light all suddenly moved in unison. In horror, he abruptly understood what he was seeing and how impossibly little time there was to react.

Seeing how very exhaustive had been the exertions of their endeavors; the Wizard had been liberal with the addition of his magical ingredient during the evening meal. Samwise in particular had received an unusually large dosage. Radagast knew how the proximity to Orodruin was draining the Ring Bearer; so, despite the fatigue he had experienced earlier, Samwise was feeling quite invigorated.

There was a very sturdy-looking rock shelf that jutted out from the shaft wall. It appeared to be at about the same level as the phantom menace. And it was situated immediately adjacent to the crack in the chasm's side, between its occupant and her intended victims. Sam leapt down.

There was one more Ring that still needed to be found

And this needful thing had gone deep down into the ground

Samwise did remain, while the others climbed down the pit

formed a living chain as they tried to recover it

There was a large crack in the side of the chasm

Seeing all those eyes nearly gave him a spasm

Samwise recognized what was happening, and he lunged

Down into the darkling pit he plunged!

He had no sooner than landed on the shelf and unsheathed Sting when Shelob issued forth. Finding her way unexpected blocked by the Elven blade, she paused and reared back. Radagast instantly became aware of the Ring Bearer's maneuver. Perched on a rocky outcropping, he practically threw Merry and Pippin up out of the shaft. He screamed at them, telling them to climb for their lives. But they hardly needed the encouragement as they caught hold of the hanging vines and quickly scrambled over the lip of the shaft.

Her prey was intolerably escaping. A full frontal assault on the defender seemed unfeasible. For Shelob, the only alternative was to circle more than halfway around the shaft wall in order to intercept Radagast as he tried to follow the two Halflings. And this, she realized, would also put her in the position of potentially cutting off any chance of escape for Sam. She spun around, collecting herself to scurry in the opposite direction.

However, the mind of the Ring Bearer was racing now that he was fully in the fray; and two things immediately caught his attention as the Last Monster of Mordor, assuming that she was unassailable, turned away. A smaller version of the rocky shelf, upon which Samwise was standing, continued on the other side of the crack. And the huge spider's body armor appeared to be thinnest right at the place where her legs emerged from her blood-bloated body. Instinctively acting on impulse, he leaped across the considerable distance, deliberately ignoring what would surely have been a fatal fall.

Shelob was surprised and poorly positioned to respond. Before she could even think about spinning to strike, her armor was pierced by the Elven spike. Death came much more quickly for her than it had her many victims. But it came indeed as she quaked and contracted, crumpling in the manner of her carnivorous kind. Involuntarily emitting an eruption of webbing, she affixed her fearsome, fallen form to the side of the shaft. And then, she hung there dead.

Finding Sting in front of her face

Shelob circled, giving it space

With those precious moments of time

Radagast and the hobbits did climb

But Samwise stayed, enabling their flight

jumping across the pit with all of his might

He had seen where her armor was lean

And with Sting suddenly piercing her side

Shelob crumpled and died

From the moment that the menace revealed her presence, the thoughts of the Wizard were only for the safety of the Halflings. But with Merry and Pippin safely out of the pit, Radagast the Green had realized that Shelob would doubtlessly discern him as representing the greatest danger. Grabbing a handful of vines, he swiftly unsheathed Glamdring and turned to meet the expected attack. But what he witnessed was beyond belief. He saw the strike that slew Shelob.

Seeing his own amazement at the accomplishment echoed in the eyes of the Ring Bearer, Radagast simply saluted Samwise with his own Elven blade. By the light of the Wizard's Staff, as Radagast turned and easily ascended, Samwise could see his open-mouthed companions staring down at him.

Radagast caused a cascade of vines to grow down to the Ring Bearer's location and then used them to pull him up. It suddenly seemed to Samwise that some unknown, innate ability had awakened to aid him in slaying the offspring of Ungoliant and that it was in direct contradiction with whatever ability he had to resist the paralyzing proximity of Mount Doom. But the wave of weakness soon waned as he found himself to be the focus of the Wizard's attention.

"Hold out your hands, Ring Bearer," Radagast said softly.

When Samwise responded, cupping them together, Radagast held out the end of his Staff. The shape of the Wizard's symbol of office altered once again, releasing its collection of shining circlets into the waiting grasp. The only remaining Three Dwarf Rings were there, as were now all of the Nine Rings of Men. Radagast produced the pouch that had previously been filled with his magical ingredient and had been emptied during dinner. Samwise placed all Twelve Rings into it, slinging it around his neck. The Wizard's emerald eyes gleamed as he looked southwestward. And then, he addressed the Halflings.

"All of the plain between here and Minas Ithil lies empty. It may take you all night to reach it. But you must not stop. Under the instruction of the High Queen, production of the blade for the Weapon can now begin. And it must be undertaken with all possible haste. The High King will need to cut a branch from the White Tree to provide the shaft. Treebeard will need to use Grond to fashion a crossbow in order to deliver our device," he said heavily. He then turned northwards, his enchanted eyes discerning circling sentinels that were far beyond the visual range of his companions, as he cryptically continued, "Nargurth will be here by morning."

"You're not coming with us?" Pippin tearfully demanded, echoing the consternation of his two companions.

"No, my good friends; although I too am grieved by our parting. But I will have to follow later," answered the Wizard. "I must now come to the aid of the Armies of Gondor. Most importantly, I must provide them with the time to retreat."

Setting their course by the light of the southwestern stars, the Halflings sorrowfully turned to go. It failed to occur even to Samwise, until an insurmountable distance had already been placed between them and their former companion, that Radagast seemed to have been implying that he intended to meet the Balrog in single combat. In a very real sense, he thought, not even Gandalf had survived such an encounter.


	9. Chapter 9

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Nine: The Unforgivable Sin**

With torches held aloft, the three Halflings pressed through the gloom before the starlight-silhouetted shadow of Mount Doom. Like a living thing, the gathering darkness hugged the edge of their illuminated ring, probing every brief flicker of the firelight. The shattered landscape was highly resistant to their determined flight, but they persevered nevertheless. The Wizard had been quite insistent about executing their passage in the most expeditious manner possible. And they were all still experiencing the effects of the last dosing with his magical ingredient. They could hardly wait to escape from the Land of Shadow anyway.

In their quest to obtain the remaining Rings of Men, they had been led inevitably closer to the dreaded ruin of Orodruin. Samwise was now closer to the Mountain of Fire than he had ever been since fleeing from its incinerating environs with Frodo after the unmaking of the One Ring. Uncontrollably, his eyes kept returning to the crypt where the remaining malice of Sauron slept.

It suddenly occurred to him that the Wizard might have had other reasons for insisting on such a speedy flight. There was no more magic with which to combat the paralyzing power of Mordor and Mount Doom. The leather pouch, in which the enchanted ingredient had been kept, now held the dubious rewards of their life-threatening labor. Once its invigorating effects ended, there would be nothing to empower the Ring Bearer except his own resilience. Unbidden images of Frodo's final frailty, as he basically crawled across those crags, came into the mind of Samwise.

Seeing that their friend was having difficulties, and wanting to make sure he would not stray into any of the surrounding pits, Merry and Pippin insisted that Samwise take the lead. This made it possible for both of them to watch him closely, and it allowed him to set the pace. Before long, he unsheathed the Elven blade. Soon, he was walking with a torch in one hand and Sting in the other. Every once in a while, he would swing the sword at something that was invisible to his companions. They carefully chose not to comment on this behavior, while making sure that their own personal trajectories did not carry them within his reckless range. They were increasingly uncertain of his sensibilities.

Finally, they were headed directly away from Orodruin. After a time, the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon behind them, casting their elongated shadows on the ashen plain before them. Samwise finally arrested his assault on the invisible; but his pace began to lag, as did his posture. Quite suddenly he stopped and stood erect as he got his first sight of the towers of Minas Ithil. One pinnacle in particular gleamed brightly as its precious-metal-covered surface reflected back the rays of the rising daystar. It looked like a giant, blazing cross.

"There it is, the Hope of the World!" cried Samwise; his eyes were overflowing with tears as he turned briefly towards his companions.

They could not be certain if the designation referred to the Tower of the Moon or, more specifically, to the burnished emblem. From his bizarre behavior, which they had witnessed as they crossed the Plain of Gorgoroth, it was quite evident to his friends that his perceptions were being altered by the proximity of Mount Doom. But they were hard-pressed to follow the newly revitalized Ring Bearer as Samwise abruptly bounded forward. Flinging their now unnecessary firebrands to the side, they dashed after him.

Minas Morgul had sprawled practically all the way across the Morgul Vale. The newly rebuilt Minas Ithil was fashioned more like Minas Tirith, backed up against the precipice on the northern side, thereby enclosing the Stairs of Cirith Ungol and raising its towers to a level that allowed them to overlook the Land of Shadow. Its soaring walls rose before the charging Halflings, yelling and laughing as they came. The Tower Guards greeted them with horn blasts. As they swept over the last interceding rise, they saw the formidable fortifications of the gateway as it was rolled aside to receive them.

Several figures strode out to greet them. And the three hobbits recognized the familiar forms of Arwen, Laurelin, and Gimli. But then, the members of the reception committee each turned suddenly. Following their gazes westward, the Halflings each realized that some kind of peculiar sound was emanating from that direction. To two of them, the ruckus became abruptly recognizable. And after an anxious few moments, Treebeard and the mounted forms of Faramir and Eorl turned the corner from South Ithilien and entered the Morgul Vale. Unaware of the trio in the distance, they headed very directly towards the entrance to the city. Forgetting their exhaustion, the hobbits rushed to intercept them.

It was a decidedly melancholy mood that prevailed over the reunion. Treebeard was coming from the decimation of Fangorn and Lothlorien and the loss of his brothers, the Ents. Faramir and Eorl had just told Thengel about the death of Lady Eowyn. And although Lord Gimli was clearly delighted to see the hobbits no matter how dire the circumstances, High Queen Arwen was obviously not happy to see the Steward. How anyone could weather such discontent from a face so fair was far beyond the Ring Bearer's ability to comprehend; yet, the Steward seemed altogether unruffled by the her rebuke.

"Were you not soundly charged with the defense of Minas Tirith, Steward?" she demanded with a very uncharacteristically icy tone. "I know of the loss you've suffered. And I am ill disposed toward discipline as a result. But more losses will surely follow if we begin to forsake our duties."

"I have neglected nothing," replied Faramir evenly, unknowingly imitating the tone of Arador in the ears of the hobbits. "The weapons, which Treebeard and I bring, have both been tested in combat against the Balrog. And it is here at Minas Ithil that the battle will be won or lost. If indeed it is lost; then Gurthang will hardly be enough to deliver the White City and Thengel will already be dead. It is fitting that the father should fall first, if we are truly fated to fall."

"I am certain the High King will have more to say on this matter," High Queen Arwen replied, sounding somewhat mollified. "But enter now into the city, Steward of Gondor."

Faramir saluted Lord Gimli and the Keeper as he rode by. But before Pippin could return the gesture, he and Merry were suddenly, and rather unceremoniously, scooped up into Treebeard's branching embrace. The voice of the Shepherd of the Forest was so filled with emotion that it was difficult to understand his words.

"Little Entings!" he cried, literally. "You are the only sprouts I have left to tend in this place of rock and stone!"

Being somewhat less familiar, Samwise was spared the melodramatic display. But his point of view allowed him to see the pain on the High Queen's face as the Ancient One evidenced his anguish. More moved was she by the emotions of the Ent, which stretched across innumerable centuries to an Elven dawn, than she had been even by Faramir and Eorl in grieving the death of Eowyn, her own close friend. The sorrow of Treebeard was far deeper. And even though she had chosen the path of mortality, a part of her still understood this only too well.

Within the courtyard, the Palantir was revealed. Nargurth was passing through the Dagorlad. In only a few minutes, he would engage the Armies of Gondor at Morannon. High Queen Arwen shifted the oracle's aim and it showed the advance of Elessar and the Cavalry of Gondor as they crossed the Pelennor Field. They were about to pass through Osgiliath and enter Ithilien. There was no way for them to turn north quickly enough to come to the aid of High Prince Telperion.

Accepting the hilt from the Wraith Slayer and the pouch from the Ring Bearer, Arwen had Gimli accompany her as she headed off to the smithy, leaving Laurelin in charge of the Palantir. Watching her go, the hobbits knew how difficult it had to be for her to abandon her vigil, even if it was in order to undertake the very necessary industry of manufacturing the Weapon. Her only son was about to be endangered by the same fiery foe that had nearly killed her husband and had exacted an unprecedented toll from the inhabitants of Middle-earth in an unbelievably brief time.

Seeing the growing panic on the faces of her guests, Laurelin softly said, "Fear not, my dear friends. The Black Gate no longer stands, but my brother will make Nargurth pay a high price for his admittance. And he will not underestimate this foe. My mother has made certain of that. There are to be no casualties in this skirmish, by royal decree. The only thing about which I'm uncertain is the manner of their retreat. The terrain does not lend itself to swift flight, as well you know."

"That's why Radagast stayed behind," the Keeper candidly commented. "And I fear for him most of all. The power he wields is almost beyond belief; and yet, it has its limits. And this is why he required our assistance, although we Halflings are surely the lowliest of all the inhabitants of Middle-earth."

"What a funny thing to say!" laughed Laurelin. "Surely you jest, Keeper, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made! The Creator has delighted in designing your kind in such a way that even those of great strength and stature would be doomed without your ministry! You are so blessed!"

Pippin could hardly be insulted by her chiding, not when it concluded with such a compliment. It seemed strange to be in the presence of one so insightful. It was like being ripped out of time and hurled back decades. He seemed to recall having been redressed by Elves on a number of occasions, always without recourse, although he was unable to remember any particulars. But to suddenly find that he was confronted with their timeless wisdom again made him feel both completely attuned to and totally disassociated from the world all at once.

Despite the fact that Laurelin was still looking at him, smiling sweetly, he understood that she was exercising innate abilities beyond his imaginings as his peripheral vision detected the shifting of the scene in the Seeing Stone. Radagast was revealed, moving northwards through the Valley of Udun. He had very nearly reached the Armies of Gondor at Morannon. Unbelievably, he smiled and waved as if he were actually aware of the supernatural surveillance. Pippin started to mimic the gesture, and then he saw the amused way the High Princess was looking at him. He sheepishly refrained.

The hobbits had become so occupied by the images in the Seeing Stone that they were not even aware of not having broken their fast. Since Laurelin was busy operating the oracle, and the Steward seemed uncertain of his situation, Faramir took charge of making sure everybody was fed. Eorl assisted. The steaming bowl of oatmeal that was suddenly thrust into his hand surprised Samwise. A crock of sugar was passed around, followed by a pitcher of cream. Laurelin raised her bowl towards heaven and gave thanks. And then, everyone ate.

Nargurth was still just beyond the range of the machines of war when High King Elessar and the Cavalry of Gondor rode into Minas Ithil. Eomer and the Riders of Rohan were with him. Bowls of hot cereal were also distributed among them. To Elessar's surprise, Arabel bolted and fled through the open gate as he unsaddled her. He had no choice but to let her go. Unpacking the Palantir, which had been given to him by Eowyn, he set up a second location for viewing the battle. Samwise hesitantly stood, and then he walked over to kneel next to Elessar.

"I don't remember where I heard this, if it was Gandalf or Radagast who said it, but I seem to recall that the Seeing Stones have the ability to show the future," Samwise softly suggested. And then he asked, "Can we look ahead to find out what's going to happen?"

"Only the Eldar are able to use the Palantiri in such a manner," answered Elessar, "for they are timeless themselves. I believe the High Queen retains this ability. But she will not hazard its use; nor would any of the Elves, not when it came to matters involving other races. They said it would be tempting fate. We must suffer these circumstances to play out as they will. And then we must summon the wisdom and courage to deal with the consequences, whatever befalls."

The batteries at Morannon suddenly opened fire. Although it put some of his men and their materials at greater risk, High Prince Telperion had elected to establish mortars on either side of the chasm. He knew it would be far more difficult for Nargurth to evade crossfire, and it would be increasingly so as he approached their positions. The first few projectiles only really declared the range of the weapons. But the second salvos were fired for effect.

The badly battered Balrog reluctantly retreated before the ballistic bombardment. Once the Fire Demon withdrew, the Great Eagles swiftly swept down and recovered some of the spent stone rounds. When it became clear to Nargurth that he was going to be pummeled again, even if he stayed where he was, he elected to present the operators with a rapidly moving, and yet meandering, target.

Surging suddenly forward, he sprinted several paces and then began to execute a circuitous, zigzagging route. This helped him to avoid direct aerial impacts, but he was struck by several of the rebounds and finally knocked to the ground. The Great Eagles hurried to take full advantage of his vulnerable prostration, releasing their boulders from above. He rolled to the side and tried to find some kind of shelter but was unable to do so. Before the next volley could be launched, he withdrew again.

Watching the scene in the Seeing Stone, Samwise wondered if Nargurth might abandon the approach through Morannon and bring his campaign to Minas Ithil. And he was uncertain of how this might upset their plans. But he was also very vague on the particulars of just exactly how the plan was supposed to dispose of the Balrog anyway. Radagast had insinuated that they were going to create a kind of sword. But he had also spoken to Arwen about some kind of delivery system, and this system somehow apparently involved a branch from the White Tree, Grond, and Treebeard.

The Ring Bearer had never been quite the fan of riddles that Frodo had been. And his mind, exhausted in the extreme, could not be forced to focus on the available data. The Enemy's image was all-engrossing as the bellowing behemoth evidenced his incandescence and charged again. Leaping from side to side, dive-rolling and changing directions as he came to his feet, the Balrog performed his dance of fire as he moved inevitably closer to the Mouth of Mordor. The catapults sang and the rebounding boulders rang as the firestorm swept southwards without being successfully accosted.

The closer Nargurth got to the batteries, the less time he had to react to the incoming salvos. And the decrease in range also eventually equaled an increase in accuracy as several speeding stones suddenly slammed into the specter in swift succession. Driven decisively into the dirt, the Fire Demon found that the rocky ridges in that area might yield a small amount of protection from the persistent pummeling; at least, they would make it difficult for the target to be struck dead on if he simply stayed low to the ground.

There was nothing he could do about the Great Eagles. But as quickly as he was moving, it was not possible for them to maintain any accuracy while trying to use altitude to accelerate their concussive contributions. The real danger was therefore the volleys of the machines of war. And if he could undermine their aim by crawling behind the ridges, he would simply have to accept the humiliation. Nargurth knew that their ammo simply could not last forever even if the Great Eagles tried to return the spent rounds to them, which could be a dangerous procedure just in itself.

But the Balrog had seriously underestimated the Elven intellect of his adversary. High Prince Telperion had foreseen the possibility of the Fire Demon resorting to such a tactic. Radagast and the hobbits had arrived too late to witness the establishment of the hyper-accurate firing grid that the High Prince and the operators of his batteries had established. They knew where those hiding places were and how to get at them.

High Prince Telperion used a series of gestures to instruct the operators to prepare to initiate their coordinated attack. Using his hunting horn, he then sounded a rhythmic series of blasts. On the last note, two of the war machines on opposite sides of the chasm fired simultaneously. Their boulders collided in midair directly over the huddled form of Nargurth, showering him with shards of stone shrapnel.

Telperion sent his archers forward. If Nargurth advanced over the ridge, rather than electing to wisely retreat, he would come within range of their bows. And then, every means of defense at the High Prince's command would be engaged. If there were any possibility of actually driving the Balrog back, it would have to happen here. Any such stand in the Morgul Vale would quite possibly put the city at risk. In truth, they had been relying on Nargurth deliberately avoiding the Tower of the Moon and choosing to attempt his entrance into Mordor at Morannon. If the Fire Demon elected now to alter the route to his objective, it would buy them a little more time. But that is all it would accomplish. It might easily be as much as they could hope to do just to defend the city.

Squirming in his discomfort, and plucking stone splinters from his scalding skin, the Balrog tumbled over the ridge. The High Prince ordered his archers to release their first volley while he instructed the operators of the machines of war to fire at will. If they were unable to kill Nargurth outright, or at least drive him back, the timing for abandoning their posts had now become critical. If there were any way he could possibly prevent it, Nargurth would not allow them to escape. He would burn them all alive.

A shower of sparks streamed into the air every time the firestorm was struck. At such close range, the reports of the impacts hurt even the ears of the operators. It seemed impossible in the extreme that anything could survive such an ordeal. High Prince Telperion kept expecting to see a dismembered appendage as the result of one of the collisions. But the Balrog continually rose to his flaming feet every time he was knocked to the ground. And incrementally, but undeniably, he continued to advance. It was almost as if the power of the Land of Shadow were compelling him forward.

The High Prince was suddenly aware of the Wizard standing at his side. But the expression in those emerald eyes was totally unreadable as he looked out upon the interminable torment that one of his own kind was being forced to endure. Telperion wondered if he was seeing pity or if it was merely concern for the ever-increasing severity of their situation. If the Balrog failed to succumb to their assault, they were going to have to move quickly. And the weighty responsibility for making that decision rested firmly on the shoulders of the High Prince.

Telperion hoped the enigmatic emissary in his garments of green would yield wise counsel in that matter. But as he followed the Wizard's worried gaze, he saw Nargurth suddenly produce his flaming sword and cleave a boulder right in two just before it could slam directly into him. Each of the smoldering halves skipped harmlessly across the rocky plain behind him, until one of them plunged noisily into a pit.

"This isn't working," said Radagast suddenly. "Get your people out of here."

The Wizard did not have to give that advice twice. Blowing the horn with all of his might, the High Prince sounded the retreat. The archers and the operators each released a final volley, as previously agreed, to help cover their withdrawal. And then, they abandoned their positions and the machines of war, fleeing westward towards the Harad Road. But the valiant volunteers, who were manning the hazardous positions on the eastern side of the chasm, had to circumvent its imposing enormity before they could even begin to effectively evacuate. And they caught the Balrog's attention.

"Archers, hold your positions!" cried the High Prince. "Defend your countrymen!"

The bow-bearing soldiers spun swiftly around, filling the air with a cloud of arrows. Nargurth was struck repeatedly. Since the chasm separated him from most of the defenders, there was no option for attacking them instead. And since it was abundantly clear that he had won the contest and that the Armies of Gondor were withdrawing, he could easily afford to fall back and give them the illusion of safety before suddenly coming upon them from behind. Since the entrance to the Land of Shadow now lay undefended, he could engage in the dalliance of destroying those who had tried to deny him access.

Nargurth fell back, allowing the remaining soldiers to slip around the edge of the chasm and join their retreating ranks. It would have been simpler, thought the Fire Demon, for them to have withdrawn into the Valley of Udun. And he did not understand their obvious predisposition to the contrary, although it would have been awfully condescending of them to make it possible for him to kill them without having to temporarily abandon his pilgrimage to Mordor. He knew that far too many years had passed since its soil had been saturated with saintly blood. And life would yet find a foothold there if something preemptive were not done very soon. He fully intended to remedy that situation, dragging some of his bleeding victims behind him as he made his final approach to Mount Doom.

He could smell the fear of the soldiers as they rushed to desert the defenses. Elves would have stayed and fought, he thought. And he momentarily mourned the apparent absence of the Eldar; not because he had any love for them, but because they could survive more excruciating torture than human beings. And he wanted to inflict the kind of pain he had just received.

All the way across Dagorlad, he had wondered when someone would venture close enough to harass him with arrows and spears; although all he could see awaiting him were Gondor's machines of war at Morannon where the Black Gate used to stand. But beyond its ruins now stretched the Valley of Udun, the Mouth of Mordor. The Morgai framed its western side. And on its north and stretching eastwards were the Ash Mountains, the Ered Lithui. Together with the Ephel Duath, the Mountains of Shadow, they completely enclosed all but the south-easternmost side of the Black Land. The defenders knew far better than to retreat into those fatal confines. To pass within the ravenous ruins of Udun was to invite death. Its gaping pits would either trap or swallow them. And it went without saying that their flaming foe would be at home within such hellish borders.

Nargurth had been gratified when he saw that the Armies of Gondor initially held their positions. He had been hoping that they would stand against him and fight to the death, something he was expert at dealing out. He brandished his sword at the fleeing forms, willing his fire to run along its blade as he showed them the fell instrument with which he intended to expose and ignite their innards. To his intense disappointment, but not to his surprise, they continued to sprint to the side, seeking to go south along the Harad Road. Laughing out loud, he watched them go. But then, he was surprised to find that the pass was not completely deserted.

A lone figure stood in the gap. Although this individual wore the shape of a man, Nargurth sensed that he was a Maia. But he was clearly one of the lesser of the Maiar. The Balrog briefly wondered if now, when the accomplishment of his objective was clearly inevitable, this minor being would offer his allegiance and plead for deliverance from the coming death. The Fire Demon considered just how amusing it would be to listen to his entreaties, perhaps even feigning interest, before dispatching him suddenly. No such assistance was required. Unbelievably, the audacious envoy made no such anticipated overture.

"Fool!" shouted Nargurth, his ashen breath billowing forth like molten malice. "Have you remained in Middle-earth only to perish, you pathetic puppet of the pitiful Powers?"

"The music of Melkor has long since ended," Radagast rejoined, rebuking him in reply. "Why do you persist in singing his sad old songs?"

"You are but an echo of themes that are foreign to this land," the Balrog bellowed. "The Ainur have never held sway in this country; save for he whom you should not dare to name, thou green glowworm! Beyond the Walls of the World he now resides, but the music of the Maiar remains. And the final melody shall be mine!"

"I too was there when Eru gave us the Song of Creation," the Wizard replied. "And I don't remember it ending that way. Nor do I appear before you to help craft any such conclusions, but only to share a simple tune."

"From one of such lackluster hue as yourself," Nargurth spitefully conceded, "simple it would have to be indeed! Very well then, sing for my amusement before you burn. But the final phrase will belong to me, and my words are made of fire! In the Lifeless Void you will shortly be; for in my song, you expire!"

Radagast smiled, as if truly amused by the Fire Demon's rhyme. Nargurth marked just how ridiculously pleasant the opponent appeared, as if he had no idea that he was about to die. But then, the curiously green-clad contender opened his mouth and sang something nonsensical in the extreme. If Nargurth had but known him as Bombadil the Brown, who had once sung silly jingles with hobbits when not directing the forces of nature with Songs of Power, perhaps he might have understood that the tune was only an introduction to the incantation. Oddly, it seemed to Nargurth as if he could hear more than one voice. But he assumed the impossible harmony to be an effect caused by their proximity to the mountains. Deftly swinging the stringed instrument from around his back, and then delicately fingering his lute, Radagast sang:

**Gorgoroth in Green**

**The Duel of Radagast and Nargurth**

**First Movement**

Li di de di

di de di

di de da-hi

Li di de di

li de di

Li de di

Li de di

Li di de di

di de di

di de da-hi

Li di de di

li de di

Li de di

Li de di

"Do you hope then to overpower me through idiocy?" Nargurth demanded. "Surely you are one of the insolent Istari! You'd do well to quickly compose the words to your melody, so I can sear them as your epitaph into the sizzling stones with which I will curtly cover your charred carcass! I will soon reduce your imbecilic arrogance to ash!"

Swathing himself in flame, the Fire Demon evidenced his inferno. But Radagast shoved the end of the budding green Staff, which had been hooked in the crook of his arm, into the barren earth, playing the lute with force, as he continued:

Long have you slept

and been kept

under Shadow

Don't you know

you can grow?

Make it so!

Come alive!

Reach toward the Light

Feel its might

pulse within you

As I sing

rise and cling

Fire subdue

as you thrive!

Suddenly snaking out of the ragged ravines all around him, a proliferation of plant life burst forth from the seemingly sterile soil surrounding Nargurth. Although ostensibly innocuous on any other occasion, it was instantly obvious that the fast-forming foliage was responding to Radagast. And conflagrating on contact with the furious firestorm in their midst somehow did not dissuade the decidedly determined diurnals from their accelerated advance. Although the brambles burned as they wrapped around him, while Nargurth stood stunned, others promptly replaced them. And the newcomers raced across the hot ash of their charred kindred as if somehow nourished by the remains. The powder, which was the product of the burnt vines, was forming an insulating residue around the flaming form, enabling additional entanglement.

Slashing with his sword and swinging his fiery whip at the encircling encroachment, Nargurth suddenly realized that the Great Eagles had descended and were waiting for him to be rendered helpless enough for them to attack with impunity. Radagast was repeating the nonsensical chorus to his song, capering about as if his antics were in some way encouraging the propagation.

Flailing his flaming whip around his own body in order to conflagrate the climbing creepers, Nargurth began swinging his sword around in the air to ward off the Great Eagles as Radagast launched into yet another set of verses:

Fear not the flame

that's the same

as the Shadow

Overcome

by your sum

As you grow

quench its Night

Grasp that which burns

so it turns

back to Shadow

Wrap around!

Pull it down

as you grow

toward the Light!

The landscape abruptly erupted with an even more determined invasion of undergrowth. The leaves angled like satellite dishes toward the overhead sun, drawing forth the necessary strength with which to accost the enveloped inferno. Realizing that if he failed to do so he might soon be overcome, Nargurth began to methodically move forward. But he was forced to slash and burn to accomplish every step of his progress. And all the while he had to be mindful of the tearing talons of the Great Eagles, circling uncomfortably close and eagerly awaiting any opportunity to attack.

As the Balrog painstakingly approached the position of Radagast the Green, the Wizard was forced to remove his Staff and fall back. The relentless propagation of the plant population was temporarily interrupted as Radagast retreated, but Nargurth still had to contend with the ridiculous resilience of the interposing plant life that had already assembled. And although his progress was significantly slowed, he stepped at last into the Valley of Udun. By the time he did so, he discovered that the Wizard had fallen back nearly to Isenmouthe at the far end of the valley. Their contest had moved into Mordor proper, a situation that Nargurth hoped to use to his advantage. He was not without powerful incantations of his own.

But the Wizard thrust the end of his budding Green Staff into the barren ground of the Black Land, swung his lute around, and took up a new theme. The harmonizing voice was unmistakably present as he sang:

**Gorgoroth in Green**

**The Duel of Radagast and Nargurth**

**Second Movement**

Hear my song!

Grow up fast and strong!

Hold the fire at bay!

Draw your strength from

the Light of Day!

Form a wall

thick and green and tall!

Weave your boughs of vine

as you reach, grasp,

and intertwine!

Feel the Creator's love

strengthen your being

as you wake to the magic of

what I sing!

Udun exploded with verdant vitality. It looked like the flowering of hell itself. The Balrog of Morgoth could scarcely believe it. It was as if long centuries of denied growth were suddenly being released from within the tortured topography of the ravaged realm. And it quickly closed around him, forcing him to emit his fire again in order to advance. He was beginning to realize that, since this challenge was with the promulgation of plants rather than with Radagast himself, there was a chance of the Wizard actually outlasting him. He was not yet far enough inside the Black Land to really effectively use the power of the place. The thorns of the blazing brambles sought to tear at his flaming form, but he continued to push his way through the unbelievably vigilant vegetation. A flute appeared in the Wizard's other hand. And he somehow managed to evoke music from both instruments as he continued to sing, building on the energetic second theme:

Hold your ground!

Let no path be found!

Make the way grow closed

so no passage

can be imposed!

So conspire

to extinguish fire!

Let no flame break through!

Use the Light

to empower you!

Feel the Creator's love

strengthen your being

as you wake to the magic of

what I sing!

Struggling for every inch of advancement, Nargurth finally managed to blaze a trail, literally, all the way to the middle of the valley. With a sense that was beyond human perception, he could now feel the presence of Orodruin, Mount Doom. The time had come for him to make a stand and show his unworthy opponent what real power looked like.

Swinging his whip around his head, in order to hold the Great Eagles at bay, he pointed his sword at the smoldering specter in the distance and uttered a fell saying. Such words had not been spoken in that part of Middle-earth for an age of the world. But the malevolent mountain remembered and responded. The landscape trembled as the volcano angrily awakened. Ash-laden smoke belched forth from fiery depths, spilling into the atmosphere and stretching out all around it, choking off the sunlight. The Valley of Udun fell beneath the steadily expanding shadow. And there was a distinct pause in the persistent proliferation of plant life.

But Radagast the Green was ready. Seizing his Staff and stretching it towards the cumbersome clouds, he sang a new song. And the lute continued to accompany him, though he now held it in only one hand. Repeatedly changing the meter, he tricked the storm into responding to his will as he sang:

**Gorgoroth in Green**

**The Duel of Radagast and Nargurth**

**Third Movement**

Rain, rain, rain, rain

Rain, rain, rain, rain

Dark evil cloud

hear my refrain

Fill now the air you touch

with soft rain

Fear not, you plants,

though sunlight wanes

Draw now the strength you need

from the rains

As the raindrops fall

drink them in; grow tall

Use the moisture

to make green what was brown

Grow up faster now

as the rain comes down

Rain, rain, rain, rain

Rain, rain, rain, rain

As if in response to some kind of chemical reaction, an intensified escalation in the growth of the plant life immediately resulted. And for a moment, it looked as if Nargurth had made a critical error and would be inescapably overwhelmed. The stalks, shoots, and even the leaves seemed to visibly swell as they apparently absorbed the prodigious precipitation. All that could be seen of the Balrog was the desperately swinging sword, moving in smoldering circles as it thrust through the top of the vegetation's ardent explosion. And the rain was helping the plants smother Nargurth's incessant inferno.

But the power of the Black Land and Mount Doom were fully at the disposal of the servant of the Great Enemy. And the nature of the ashen cloud, which the Wizard had so effectively used to produce his rain shield, could not be denied. As Nargurth continued his dark incantations, the rain became acidic. The plants began to wilt before its onslaught. And although it looked as if it should not have been possible, somehow Radagast deftly deployed Glamdring just in time to deflect the volley of lightning bolts that were also unleashed by the horrid heavens. The Elven blade glittered green in the fading electrical sheen.

Retuning the lute to its position on his back, although it somehow continued to play, he took up his Staff and signaled one of the nearer of the Great Eagles. Plunging through the now ghastly gale, it quickly plummeted towards its intended passenger. It compensated for the posture of the Wizard as it swept him from the ground and whisked him in the direction of Minas Ithil, because Radagast the Green now bowed before the overpowered plants as he sang:

Go back to sleep in the earth

Wait for the Time of Rebirth

One Day you'll hear a new song

Then you'll arise and grow strong

One Day the Creator will this landscape redeem

It will again know and be blessed by your emerald gleam

One Day the memory of the Shadow will fade

But I, Radagast the Green, thank you for all your aid!

Nargurth, feeling vindicated, listened with relief to its fast fading polyphony as the Wizard's voice, with its troubling twofold-tone, disappeared into the distance along with the last note of his song. The imprisoning plant life was now fleeing before his flame, melting like wax before his angry incandescence. The already vile valley of Udun was now choked with putrid plant matter. But the plain of Gorgoroth stretched unhindered before him. The path to Mount Doom, and perhaps even the doom of all Middle-earth, now lay open. As the last of the rancid rainfall sizzled into steam on his smoldering skin, Nargurth followed in the footsteps of Sauron, hastening to retrieve the ruin of that malevolent minion of Morgoth.

Putting Durthang over his right shoulder and Isenmouthe at his back, the victorious Flame of Udun finally took flight. The overwhelming vehemence of the thundering mountain, along with the Fire Demon's mastery over the storm's electrical assault, had finally dismissed the defenders. No power remained to deter him from his goal. On wings of fiery rage, Nargurth crossed above the Land of Shadow.

Like a warren of wrath the nightmarish mountain received him as if he were its own flaming fledgling, the awful offspring of its own molten malice. As he stepped into that fortress of foulness, he knew that naught of Sauron's power, of which it was the evil repository, would Orodruin deny.

But the Great Eagle speedily swept southwestward toward Minas Ithil. No other inhabitant of the air could excel the Lords of the Sky for swiftness in flight. In what seemed like mere moments, the rising rock ramparts of the rebuilt fortress vaulted into visibility above the ice-encrusted crests of the interposing Mountains of Shadow. As he approached from above, Radagast was sure that the outcome of his confrontation with Nargurth had been observed and that everybody was now preparing for the upcoming conflict, perhaps the last chance for the Light to finally extinguish the Darkness that was yet present in Middle-earth.

As the Great Eagle bore Radagast away from the battle, the High Princess quickly escorted the hobbits out of the courtyard. There were preparations to be made. And she knew the Halflings would only be in the way; but more so than that, she also understood that their part in the conflict was now concluded, and after difficult industry and a valiant victory.

"You must be exhausted," she softly said as she led them up into the embattled bastion. "There is little extra room. All of the walled cities are filled nearly to capacity; even this one, despite its proximity to Mordor and the fact that we fully expect Nargurth to strike us first. But my brother's room is not occupied. If you don't mind sharing it, you should all be quite comfortable. And I will see that you are awakened before the city is besieged. But take no thought of that for now. It is by the counsel of Radagast that you have been safely brought thus far. And it is that which also guides our every action in this time of desperate need."

"You are very kind, my Lady the High Princess," said Merry haggardly, looking as if he could collapse at any moment as they paused before the indicated doorway.

Glancing at the exhausted Esquire, Laurelin's Elven empathy told her that her presence had reminded him of someone else. And she felt the depth of his sorrow, greater than that which she had perceived in anyone else for that lamentable loss, save Faramir and Eorl; or, perhaps, Gimli.

Making themselves almost absurdly at home, the hobbits very unceremoniously shrugged off their backpacks and slung accessories as soon as they entered the majestic chambers. The Ring Bearer's backpack struck the stone floor with such force that it opened, spilling its contents. A big, rectangular object caught the attention of the High Princess. She quickly stooped and retrieved it before Samwise was even aware of its discovery.

"There and back again, a hobbit's tale by Bilbo Baggins," she immediately read aloud. "And the Lord of the Rings by Frodo Baggins. You've been carrying this all along?"

"It isn't finished," Samwise awkwardly explained, slurring his words in his weariness. "When Frodo gave it to me, he told me there was room for a little more and that the last pages where for me. I had no idea he might be referring to something like this. If he did, I guess I can see why he didn't say anything. But after we conclude this business with the Balrog, I guess I'm going to have to finally finish the thing."

"And then," she quietly replied, "the Record of the Ring Bearers will finally be complete, and your tenure in Middle-earth will be satisfied."

She held his gaze for several moments, but Samwise quite deliberately did not respond. And his companions were already unconscious. She quietly excused herself and left them to sleep. It was very evident to her that her words had indicated nothing unknown to the Ring Bearer. Such perceptiveness, in a member of a race whose origin was unknown, was a thing that had occupied her mind ever since their meeting. And that was even before he had won the distinction of slaying Shelob.

Emerging from the spacious quarters, which were located in one of the soaring towers, she happened to glance through a nearby window. The High Prince's chambers were adjacent to the upper courtyard where another of the renowned White Trees of the King grew atop Minas Ithil. The Great Eagle was depositing Radagast the Green there just as she looked out. She hurried to greet the Wizard, noting that others were already waiting to receive him. And she heard what the Great Eagle said to the Green Wizard, although she had no idea how she was able to understand its words.

"Farewell," it said, "wherever you fare, until your eyrie receives you at your journey's end."

"May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks," Radagast replied with a bow, turning then to the High King.

"The Armies of Gondor and the life of my son were surely spared through your intercession," said Elessar, "even if you were finally unable to overcome the evil Maia. I am very grateful for all that you've done thus far. But now, Nargurth has reached his goal. And none of us comprehend how exactly you mean to finally defeat him, although the blending of the required elements has already begun. And the hilt, which we received from Merry, is ready to accept the new blade."

"Arwen, Gimli, and I will forge the blade for the Weapon," Radagast explained. "In truth, it is really a sword. But it will become the tip of a great arrow. I'm afraid we will have to use a branch from the White Tree for its shaft. The hands of the Balrog won't be able to find any purchase on its enchanted bark in order to extract it. And the Great Eagles are providing the tail feathers for its stabilization. Treebeard will need to convert Grond into a crossbow to execute the delivery. The Dwarves may aid him in that effort."

"But we ignore a potential peril," Elessar objected. "This Balrog can fly. Always before, when one of the Fire Demons was defeated, it was first deprived of that ability. When Ecthelion slew the Lord of the Balrogs, Gothmog, he succeeded in wounding him in such a way that he could not fly. So it was that he too died when they fell from the precipice together. The one that Gandalf fought had its wings torn to shreds by an impact with an underground ocean. Your Weapon may indeed be capable of killing this foe. But we will have only one shot. And if Nargurth can evade it in the air, we cannot hope to succeed. I do however have a plan."

The High King had been approaching the White Tree as he spoke. And he looked sidelong at High Queen Arwen as he prepared to introduce his risky suggestion. But he also unsheathed Anduril, pursing his lips as he raised his eyes and regarded the White Tree, trying to decide which of its majestic limbs to sacrifice. He paused.

"And unto what dreadful danger are you now determined to submit yourself, my love?" asked Arwen with uncharacteristic and unconcealed anger.

"An ambush on Orodruin," answered Elessar, turning to confront her challenging gaze, "the one place where Nargurth believes himself unassailable. But I can only be certain of one strike, so I will need someone to accompany me. And we will need the Great Eagles to rescue us from the aftermath of our attack. I had thought to ask you, Wizard, for Glamdring is surely sufficient for such a campaign. Perhaps I will need you to loan it to Legolas if the Steward will not yield his sword. I of course will use Anduril."

As he concluded, he finally made his selection and swung the sword will all his might. The detached branch came away cleanly from the trunk of the White Tree. But Anduril, the Flame of the West, shattered into fragments. The spinning shards looked like snowflakes as they fell to the stone floor of the courtyard, reflecting the light of the now late morning sun and the anguish in the eyes of the High King. Elessar sagged, falling to his knees before the dismembered White Tree as he convulsively clutched the hilt of the sword. Tears flowed from his unbelieving eyes.

Fearing Elessar's ire, Faramir had been standing silently throughout these proceedings. He now said, "It is not within the purview of the High King to require the surrender of an heirloom. If Radagast will lend you his sword, my liege, then I will accompany you. Or perhaps you will send Arador in your stead and appease the very reasonable concerns of the High Queen. But for my part, I do not fear death. Nor will I be deprived of the right to prepare this adversary for his fall in very much the same way as Merry made it possible for my beloved to slay her evil opponent."

High King Elessar's answer was not immediate, for the regent turned his anguished attention on Radagast, demanding, "How in the world could this happen? Has the One Ring already been remade? What power has the ability to tear asunder such an icon?"

"The greatest difficulty we will ever confront has nothing to do with the power of an adversary; it is our own faithlessness, or faith we have placed in the wrong things," the Wizard replied. "There was never any power in that shaft of Elven steel, cleverly wrought though it was, greater than that of its wielder. Once you were a Ranger, with little at hand. But you believed in the strength of your linage. Now you have sat upon a thrown for many long years, with precious little in the way of fell deeds by which to demonstrate the anointing of your regency. It is time again for you to begin to truly believe in yourself. And you must also believe in those who serve with you. For it is only by their strength as well that Nargurth can be vanquished. Anduril was willing to pass into legend in order to fulfill its purpose. And so must you honor all those who stand willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Your true weapons are those who serve with you. Do not hinder them from being used to their greatest advantage. And though you have not asked it of me, I freely make the offer. My blade would be honored to be involved in your enterprise."

Elessar arose. He strode toward Radagast and accepted the gift of Glamdring. Promising to return it, he turned to Arwen, saying, "I cannot send another in my stead. But I will return to you."

"Never have you broken your word, Elfstone," she replied, using the Westron pronunciation that she normally reserved for moments of intimacy. "I have always believed in you, even when others might have said you didn't believe in yourself. Know that my faith in you is boundless and borrow from its strength, thereby may I be assured of your return."

"Then be assured, Elven Queen," he said softly, kissing her. He also paused to embrace the High Princess. And then, he turned to Faramir, "When you speak of not fearing death, you sound just like my cousin and a true heir of Numenor. The Faithful have always understood that death is not a curse but a gift from the Creator. It is the final cure for the weariness of the world. Although they feigned otherwise, I believe the Elves were often jealous of our mortality. But Legolas already has been selecting timbers for his final crossing, and I cannot deny him the opportunity to accomplish that passage without the use of a ship!"

The Steward laughed. It was the first time any of them had heard anything like the sound of mirth from Faramir since Fangorn. And then, he asked, "So, will you then yet require my sword and without me to wield it?"

"Your brother, Boromir, was part of our Fellowship," Elessar softly answered. "He would not have withheld anything from one of its members. In fact, he made the ultimate sacrifice in its service. And I know, although you would rather undertake this errand yourself, that I can expect you to do no less than he would himself."

"You were saving my city while I was unconscious. And I know you'd have fallen in Boromir's defense if only opportunity had allowed," said the Steward as he unfastened Gurthang and gave the sword to Legolas. "May this serve you well."

Turning to the Green Wizard, Elessar said, "We'll need transportation to Orodruin."

Radagast relayed the regent's request to the Great Eagles. A number of them had gathered along the parapet to make a donation of feathers. After their many fruitless attempts to deprive Nargurth of his ability to fly, the opportunity to deliver and safeguard the strike-force, which would finally accomplish that laudable ambition, was cause for excitement.

Since not even Radagast knew how long it would take Nargurth to accomplish his evil deed, assuming the Balrog was successful, it was decided that the assault team should take supplies for at least a few days. While the provisions were being packed, High Princess Laurelin approached Steward Faramir, very conscious of the fact that he was her father-in-law. She softly touched his shoulder, in order to get his attention, and inadvertently startled him.

When he turned to face her, she said, "I have learned one thing from the Elves. And perhaps it's something that will serve you now. For I have been taught, and do truly believe, that love is far greater than anything else – even death."

"Thank you, High Princess," he replied, bowing.

And then, all was ready. High King Elessar apprehensively approached the eagerly awaiting Great Eagles, and Legolas followed. Giving careful attention to the Wizard's instructions, they climbed aboard the feathery forms. Moments later, they were airborne. It simply was not possible to watch the receding scene behind them as they soared off into the somber sky. Their complete concentration was required in order for them to remain mounted.

Orodruin approached. Flashes of light through the massive doorway, which led into the heart of Mount Doom, revealed that some form of industry was being undertaken in its inner chambers. The Great Eagles deposited Elessar and Legolas on the ridge above the yawning doorway, the entrance to the Sammath Naur, which had remained even after Mount Doom erupted in response to receiving back the One Ring; and then, they climbed to altitude to keep watch. The High King and the Last Elf in Middle-earth quickly maneuvered down to a vantage point from which they could launch their sneak attack; and then, they settled in for the unknown duration. Although they knew what was happening in the incinerating enclosure beneath their feet, they had no idea how it was being carried out.

Meanwhile, Nargurth separated his Dark Fire from his Shroud of Shadow, revealing an incandescent individual. It was this fiery figure that confronted the conflagration of the chasm. And while the materialization of his Shadow hovered like a brooding cloud in the upper reaches of the rock room; the bright, nearly blood-red being waded out into the luminous lava. No other living manifestation could have withstood such interaction with the incendiary. But the Balrog of Morgoth was in his own appalling element. Evidencing his own internal inferno, he opened his mouth and sang:

**_One Ring to Rule Them All_**

(_The Song of Nargurth_)

Three Rings for the Elven Kings under the sky

Seven for the Dwarf Lords in their halls of stone

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie

And Nargurth, Lord of the Rings, am I

Now die!

The Balrog reached out and began to manipulate the flaming surface around him, forming it into a kind of collection vessel. As he did so, he continued to intone his incantation:

First I take some malice,

then mix it with some ire,

formed into a chalice

made of molten fire

Then I draw into it

all the lingering force

of the Dark Lord of the Rings

from his form divorced

Sauron, you will serve me now

and so prove your worth

as you served our Master once,

Melkor Belegurth

Hearken to the words I sing

Yield now to my will

I'll remake your Master Ring

And then we will kill!

Addressing the enormity of Orodruin itself, Nargurth waved his flaming, free hand. Streams of radiant energy began to ooze from the recesses of the expansive inferno, snaking insidiously into the glowing goblet in his other hand, held at the level of the pyrogenic pool. As he conducted the revolting reconstruction, he drew from the reservoir of his repulsive power, hovering in the smoke-filled chamber above, to supplement the Dark Lord's diminished force. Through that malevolent mixture, he was able to supply what otherwise would have been lacking. And in his vile vessel the One Ring began to take shape as he sang:

All the force of the mountain

obey my command

Send now forth as a fountain

straight into my hand

all the power remaining

of the Ruling Ring

Soon now I will be reigning

over everything!

Raising the receptacle from the flaming surface, Nargurth excitedly examined its contents. The One Ring lay there, fully formed, its inscription shining brightly. Plucking it from the mouth of his evil instrument, he held it aloft. His laughter sounded little like amusement but far more like sadism as he sang:

Three Rings for the Elven Kings under the sky

Seven for the Dwarf Lords in their halls of stone

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie

And Nargurth, Lord of the Rings, am I

Now die!

And then, he put it on. The Mountain of Fire bucked beneath the feet of the men who were waiting to waylay him. And they knew not the cause but guessed at its evil implications. Power surged through the Balrog of Morgoth, beyond anything he had ever known or even expected. His victorious voice reverberatingly rang as he concluded:

Fire and Darkness unite

in my infinite might!

O the wrongs I'll make right!

Letting the goblet fall back into the inferno from which it had been forged, he flexed the dark power around him, reveling in its resonant response. He then picked up his weapons and turned towards the arching doorway. Night was falling on the world outside. If he had his way, there were many for whom the dawn would now never come.


	10. Chapter 10

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Chapter Ten: A Passage from Middle-earth**

Darkness fell upon Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon, but there was no moon to illuminate the twilight. The smoke of an altogether awakened Orodruin now obfuscated the light of all but the very westernmost stars. A potent power prevented the Palantir from penetrating the darkling Crack of Doom where Nargurth undertook his evil industry, so High Queen Arwen was only able to observe Mount Doom from without and thereby keep watch on Elessar and Legolas.

The Halflings had slept away the afternoon and evening. Radagast and Gimli had forged the Weapon. And the High Queen had worked the authority of the Elves into runes on its bright blade. But now the time had come to see if it was even within their capacity to supply the necessary final ingredient, for the Light of Earendil had been obscured by Orodruin. Having the foresight to recognize that her guests would want to witness what now happened, and knowing what else they would surely require, she had a dinner table set up in one corner of the upper courtyard; and then, she sent the High Princess, Laurelin, to summon the hobbits.

Wiping sleep from their eyes, her guests emerged. Laurelin had relayed the request of the High Queen, and the Ring Bearer brought the Phial of Galadriel. Slipping it to her silently, he bowed ceremoniously. With a wave of her hand she indicated the table and the meal that had been prepared for them. At the other end of the table sat the High Princess with the Palantir. The Halflings quickly took their seats, but were so engrossed in the activities of the royal women that they were barely conscious of the food before them. The view in the Seeing Stone revealed High King Elessar and Legolas as they perched on a rocky ledge above the entrance to the Crack of Doom. Orodruin suddenly convulsed beneath them.

"What's happening?" hissed Samwise.

"I perceive that the One Ring has been remade," responded the High Princess. "Now we will see if the Phial of Galadriel can be awakened. Only through the infusion of the Light Divine into the Weapon can we be assured of its success. After all that has been lost or set at risk in this matter, only by this manifestation of the grace of the Valar can we yet be saved."

The hobbits appeared petrified by this proclamation as they all turned to see what the High Queen was doing. She knelt before the White Tree. The blade of the Weapon was thrust into the exposed earth surrounding it. Its hilt, supplied by Merry, resembled a cross as it sat atop the formidable blade that now was nestled among the roots of the Tree of the King. Arwen placed the Phial on the torchlight-illuminated loam between them. Stepping from the shadows, Radagast suddenly joined her, and they sang:

**_The Infusion of Light_**

(_Arwen's Song_)

Bright Earendil passing by

across the canopy of sky

bear aloft forever now

the Light of Heaven on thy brow

You are our most beloved star,

O child of Iluvatar,

among them all now set your course

above the waning world's remorse

Wrought by Feanor's great skill

the Sacred Jewel, the Silmaril

now guides your fabled vessel's helm

between the sky and Blessed Realm

You've walked across the Far Shore's sands

to step no more on mortal lands

until the darkness is repealed

and all the broken world is healed

There was a sudden shimmering sparkle in the enchanted elixir of the Phial. It was ephemeral in the extreme. It evaporated before the eye could ascertain its certainty. But they kept singing:

Until Creation's Song is stayed

and all the Music has been played

your theme forever will be mine,

O Father of the Dunedain

You understand the fate of men,

divorced from Sylvan origin

And to the Blessed Realm, you know

if now their sundered souls may go

The eyes of the Halflings were intensely searching the depths of the fleetingly illuminated liquid but were pulled away by an unexpected activity in the Seeing Stone. The Enemy emerged.

The hobbits had each seen a Balrog before in Moria. And they had even caught a glimpse of Nargurth through the Palantir before the Fire Demon had broken forth upon Middle-earth. But the emerging incandescent enormity was orders of mind-boggling magnitude larger than even their most nightmarish remembrance of either mountainous malevolence. He poured forth from the evil enclosure like an angry eruption.

Everyone was alarmed by the abrupt uncertainty in the eyes of High King Elessar, made evident by the light of the incinerating illumination. But a glance from Legolas seemed to fortify his steadfastness and prevent him from faltering. Had anyone else accompanied Elessar, instead, they would certainly have hesitated at least long enough to be detected by the Fire Demon's augmented awareness. But the son of Thranduil was undeterred. With a nod, he led the leap into the fiery fray.

Their assault was successful. Before the strikes of their singing swords, the Balrog's wings fell away. The consequences were almost coincident. The High King had thought to briefly alight upon the flaming shoulder of his adversary and then leap into the air to hopefully be intercepted by one of the Great Eagles. But the swirling Shroud of Sauron supplied no stability upon which to stand. His feet found no purchase as he helplessly slipped from the spinning back of the fiery form.

Nargurth struck, his hissing hand slamming into the plummeting potentate like a blazing wall of rock. Elessar's skin was instantly seared where the contact was made, and several major bones were instantaneously shattered. But the blow flung his nearly senseless form up into the sky. And the Great Eagle, which had been diving to retrieve him, adjusted its course to intercept. It snatched him out of the air only moments before he would have fatally fallen upon the razor sharp rocks around the base of Orodruin.

The ability to stand atop the surface of freshly fallen snow apparently translated into somehow finding footing amidst the Shroud of Sauron. Unlike his injured accomplice, Legolas leapt from the sizzling shoulder in a totally controlled fashion. One of the Great Eagles easily intercepted him and barely avoided the Balrog's blazing backhand. Swiftly soaring beyond the reach of Nargurth's now wingless wrath, the Great Eagles spirited away their courageous charges. It was however quite obviously apparent, through the Seeing Stone, that the High King had been critically hurt. But as the Great Eagles angled towards Minas Ithil, the High Queen and Radagast the Green continued to sing:

You spanned the Gap that stands between

And with once mortal eyes you've seen

the City that will never fall

and made entreaty for us all

Enlighten now for all to see

this symbol of your embassy

Free us from Sin's deadly Law

Elenion Ancalima!

As the melody came to its Elven ending, the Phial of Galadriel suddenly ignited with the Light Divine. An almost unbearable beauty burst forth, silhouetting the High Queen and Radagast and burnishing the runes in the blade. The Weapon absorbed the Light; its hilt becoming a blazing cross like the one that had welcomed the Halflings to Minas Ithil. Looking around at each other in amazement, it was difficult to tell if all the tears were the result of elation at the achieving of that illumination or a direct byproduct of its force. Arwen unsheathed the shining sword from its earthy enclosure and extended it to the Wizard. Asking everyone to stay in its relative safety, Radagast the Green accepted the Weapon and, taking it with him, hurried from the courtyard.

Waiting behind the walls of a great Numenorean city for the advent of battle was something with which Pippin had experience. And he was far from pleased at having to repeat the process. It was clear that the incinerating Enemy was now on his worrisome way. And from the terror in their torchlight-illuminated eyes, it was equally obvious to the Keeper that the Fire Demon's dread was also gnawing at the horrified hearts of his cringing companions. It was intolerable.

The Keeper looked to High Queen Arwen and the High Princess to somehow allay their anxieties. But just at that moment, the Great Eagle delivered the broken form of the High King. King Eomer, Arador, Laurelin, and Arwen all left the courtyard with Elessar's litter. The other two hobbits started to follow, but Pippin stayed them. He knew they would only be in the way. He was also concerned that the extent of Elessar's injuries would only further frighten them. The second Eagle arrived with Legolas. Seeing that the Steward and his son were on hand, having held back with the hobbits, he used the opportunity to return Gurthang. Faramir averted his eyes from those of the Elf as he accepted the unwelcome reminder of his bereavement. Uncertain of what to say, Legolas simply rushed after the departing party.

Stepping up to the walkway near the parapet, in order to utilize the resonance of the rock walls, Pippin undertook a highly unusual industry for one in such a serious situation. Once before, and at the ruler's request, he had sung for Denethor. In his estimation, the desperation of their situation now required such a diversion. Taking his time, in order to master his unsteady voice, he began singing the same song that had suggested itself to him on that ancient occasion since it seemed appropriate in the extreme. Guards were always stationed in the Courtyard of the White Tree. They were obviously moved by his melancholy melody as they stood spellbound by his song.

In the background, as he sang, there began to be a sound like approaching thunder. Flashes of light accompanied it. Not really focusing on the fracas, but assuming it to be an actual storm or an effect of the altogether awakened Orodruin, neither the performer nor his enthralled audience averted their attention; until it suddenly stopped, just beyond the wall before which they were all standing.

Pippin's place along the parapet allowed him to examine the source of the unknown illumination by simply leaning over. As his song finally came to an end, he realized that flickering firelight now seemed to be shining from the Morgul Vale and all the way up to the top of the nearby towers. Its source seemed to be focused and just beneath his position. It reminded him of the light that had been left after the leveling of Lothlorien, adequate for illumination but entirely unnerving. Cautiously, he peered over the parapet.

Pippin had never seen a Dragon in real life, although he had seen some drawings of Smaug in the Baggins' residence. And some of those representations incorporated other items, like trees, for comparison. He had always silently suspected overt exaggeration of the apparition's dimensions. The Balrog of Morgoth had become mind-bendingly bigger however than even the massive malevolence of those dubious depictions. The very size of the specter suggested its relationship to Orodruin. It was almost as if Mount Doom had sprouted flaming feet and was walking out of Mordor. But that was not the aspect of the Enemy that most severely assaulted his sensibilities.

Nargurth was wearing Sauron as if the Dark Lord were a shroud. A mantle of malice slithered out of the shining circlet on one of the Balrog's flaming fingers. It flowed across his fiery form like an undulating and altogether antagonistic awareness. From the Black Gate, the Keeper had only briefly seen the manifestation known as the Eye of Sauron, and even that had been from a very great distance. But this ultimate expression of the Enemy's evil, seething and utterly insidious, seemed to be far more representative of the Lifeless Void of which he was an unforgiving emissary. It was like looking at the very personification of Death. And it was looking back at him.

A motion in the sky above brought the Keeper's attention to the heavens. The Great Eagles were circling there, but they could now come nowhere near Nargurth. Pippin was suddenly made to understand why as the towering terror raised his Ring-bearing hand and released a torrent of flame in their direction. A continual crackle marked the inferno's ascent into the sky. Everybody ducked behind the sheltering stones, anticipating that the next blast would be leveled at them. It was. But it was not another fireball. The Balrog aimed his swollen sword along the parapet and released a volley of lightning, blowing the wall right over the heads of the helplessly huddled.

Radagast knew Nargurth would be instantly aware of Elessar's Numenorean origin. It was therefore expected that the Balrog would follow the High King back to Minas Ithil. So, as soon as the Weapon had been successfully infused with the Light of Earendil, he carried it to Treebeard with utmost urgency. With the Green Wizard's recently acquired abilities and the unsurpassable woodcraft of the Shepherd of the Forest, they were able to mate the Weapon to the Shaft. Great Eagle feathers had already been affixed to the base of the delivery device. And the Dwarves had helped to complete the conversion of Grond into a colossal crossbow. It now came down to what would certainly be the last confrontation between the Balrog and the Ent – one way or the other.

With the interceding section of the upper defensive wall removed, there was now nothing separating the Halflings or the Guardians of the White Tree from Nargurth's next assault. To the utter astonishment of the scrambling soldiers, the hobbits chose to stand and confront their flaming foe. They were far too distant from any other form of cover. There was clearly no way they would be able to outmaneuver a bolt of lightning. And they simply refused to fear whatever fate their Creator had now reserved for them. Their swords sang in unison as they forcefully unsheathed them, determined to die with their weapons in hand.

Their conflagrating combatant was confused by this conduct. The dauntless diminutives did not represent any race that was known to Nargurth. Their astonishing attitude indicated an almost Elven impudence. But their fearless little forms seemed derived from the Dwarves. Because the untrustworthy are ever distrustful, the Balrog suspected subterfuge; and in a very real way, he was right. But the sacrificial use of the Halflings, in providing such a deadly diversion, had never been part of the plan; at least, not the Wizard's plan.

The next volley of lightning was lethal. Faramir and Eorl rushed to push the hobbits out of its path, and they paid with their lives. But as the electrical assault poured across the pulverized parapet, the silhouettes of the Steward and his son saved the lives of Samwise and the White Tree. Everyone else was instantly incinerated.

As the fabled defenders fell, there was a sound and a movement near the ground before the Balrog. The formidable fortifications were rolled aside and the city's gates unbelievably opened. Nargurth mistook the intentions of the inhabitants, thinking they had come to understand that death was imminent and hoping, by overtly admitting their opponent, to earn a swift and merciful demise. He could easily see the sense in such surrender, although he was unsure if he would ultimately oblige their powerless appeal.

Tactically however this opportunity presented him with a challenge. He was almost too big to enter by means of even the city's main gates. As he stooped, to attempt such passage, he found that the entrance was not entirely vacant after all. A solitary shape stood in the shadows, becoming visible as the Enemy's illumination was brought to bear. Its stature, and the telltale way it creaked when it moved, identified the insolent intruder as an Ent even before the Balrog's amplified awareness recognized Treebeard.

Nargurth's squatting posture providentially prevented him from producing an incinerating emission. Stepping back, he reared to his full height, preparing to obliterate the Ent. He could hardly believe that the Shepherd of the Forest apparently intended to stay such an inevitable advance with the now far less terrible tool in his wooden grasp, although Nargurth deeply appreciated the opportunity to repay with interest the blow that had been struck on the battlefield. And having the ancient weapon of his master, Melkor, used against him was an affront that required addressing. But Grond seemed to have changed. Something foreign had been affixed to the fell frame of the fearsome Hammer of the Underworld.

Suddenly rooting himself to the spot to absorb the recoil, Treebeard lowered the battleaxe so that it was almost level with the ground but aimed directly at the center of the Fire Demon's torrential torso. The Balrog detected the glint of the blade that had been hidden by the bulk of the battleaxe just as the Ent loosed the bolt. Nargurth instinctively attempted to deflect the propelled spear but underestimated its swiftness. Despite the circulating Shroud of Sauron, which was poignantly powerless to prevent penetration by instruments that he himself had first forged, the blade entered the Balrog's flaming form. The Weapon stuck fast. Nargurth struggled to remove the inserted spike, but his mighty hands could find no purchase on the wondrous, white wood of its shimmering shaft.

The slithering Shroud of Sauron fluctuated as it frantically flowed through the uncontrollably increased incineration. Nargurth was no longer in command of his conflagration. And he was no longer in accord with his awful accomplice as the two sought for a way to survive, even at each other's expense. The Balrog had become a ball of writhing flame. So intense was the inferno that the metal began to melt in the city's main gates and some of the rocks actually cracked because of the intense heat.

Nargurth seemed to be trying to focus his flame on the spot where he had been impaled in order to force, completely through compression, the barb from his blast furnace belly. But he was not able to make his aura of blood red fire contract into the place where he had been pierced. White flame was erupting from that area. It nearly blinded the onlookers as it ballooned, continually increasing the circumference of the fireball in which the Balrog was enveloped and forcing his magic mantle further and further away from his frenzied form. He thrashed about in panic and pain.

Suddenly, the critical threshold was reached. The fireball catastrophically collapsed in upon the beleaguered Balrog. There was a flash and a sound like muffled thunder. Nargurth exploded into a cloud of volcanic dust that came falling down on the startled spectators. The Shaft was no longer visible at all. It had been completely consumed by the conflagration. The Weapon clattered noisily to the rocky road there before the entrance to Minas Ithil. And the One Ring fell beside it. No trace of the Fire Demon or his other implements remained.

Nargurth was no more. Both the Shroud of Sauron and his own malicious mantle had melted in that final firestorm. After the vociferous sound of the emergent inferno, the sudden silence was almost overwhelming while the dust of the decimated Enemy fell like snowflakes all around them. The Shepherd of the Forest slowly lowered Grond as he looked with understandable disdain upon the icons on the ground there before him. And then he spoke into the vacuum, uttering a sound that only one of his kind could have made so appropriate for the occasion.

"Humph," he said.

The absence of any other noise however made it possible to detect another sound as it emerged from the background. It was the rapid hoof-falls of a very fast approaching horse. It almost sounded as if there were other horses following somewhere far behind it. Everyone knew that High Prince Telperion was trying to reach the city before Nargurth could endanger it, although they had never believed he would win that race. But the Armies of Gondor were not on horseback. And the growing thunder, behind the original sonic event, spoke of a considerable and obviously mounted force. The inhabitants looked out over the vale, straining their eyes against the darkness in order to try and discern the source of the curious sounds.

In truth, there really should not have been enough light for them to make anything out. But a curiously green-tinted illumination seemed to fall about the apparently flying form. Legolas and King Eomer had reversed course and returned to the upper courtyard as soon as they heard the telltale sounds of destruction. As Legolas carefully helped Samwise to his feet, the King of Rohan peered down through the pulverized parapet at the approaching unknown.

"It is my sister, the Lady and Steward of Isengard! It is none other than Eowyn!" King Eomer excitedly announced. Having said this, he grabbed up Gurthang from among the ashen remains of Steward Faramir and raced for the lower courtyard.

Everyone thought he was obviously in error. But their distant torchlight soon revealed that the growing thunder was being produced by a horde of horsemen. And as it folded and unfurled before one of the firebrands, their banner was briefly made visible. The Citadel Guards quickly recognized it as that of Thengel, the Steward of Osgiliath. And then they knew Eomer was not mistaken.

Somehow, against all odds, the mother had apparently presented herself alive to her son at the capital city. And knowing the danger into which she was riding when she stated her intention to continue on to Minas Ithil, Thengel and his forces had pursued. But no horse on earth, save for her Spectral Sire, could possibly contend with Arabel. She had immediately outdistanced them.

Treebeard paused as the sound came to an abrupt stop just outside the city gate. He heard someone leap to the ground and rush toward the entrance, pausing beside the curious items that had fallen there. As she reached to retrieve the seemingly abandoned objects, Lady Eowyn was revealed.

As she stepped into the outer courtyard of the Tower of the Moon, she bore what were arguably the most powerful icons of her time. And the Shepherd of the Forest, carrying the Hammer of the Underworld, met her. Coming up quickly behind him were Eomer and Radagast. The sight of her sword at her brother's side told her that the thing she feared most had happened. As the King of Rohan met her gaze, unable to hide the truth from her understanding eyes, the Lady and Steward of Isengard sagged to her knees. But her sorrow turned to uncertain astonishment as Radagast, revealing his presence to her for the very first time, uttered a very unexpected interrogative.

"Goldberry?" he breathlessly demanded as he relieved her of the terrible trophies.

Having come with Legolas, in swift pursuit of Eomer, Samwise was thunderstruck, wondering why he had never before observed the striking similarity between the two women. Part of it, he reasoned, was that they came from such very different worlds. And the other part was that it was a nearly teenaged version of Eowyn that now, to their consternation, confronted them. Remembering what the High Queen had said about the pool in the center of Fangorn Forest, which he knew to be none other than the pool of Entwash, he instantly suspected the cause of Eowyn's impossible youthfulness.

Treebeard was also aware of the power at work, laughingly asking, "Little Enting?"

This designation appeared to strike a chord deep within the being of the kneeling widow. But Lady Eowyn was uncertain of how to respond to either of the seemingly nonsensical questions. It was clear to her that she had found the green-garbed figure from her dreams. His very presence seemed to somehow assuage her sense of loss. But she was also confused by the fact that the Ent seemed suddenly familiar; and being overwhelmed by all of the unexpected emotions, she was utterly unable to respond. Appearing incongruous in the extreme, tears overflowed her unbelievably youthful face as she trembled silently before them.

No one seemed able to do anything to alleviate the situation, until Samwise stepped forward. He took Gurthang from the hesitating hands of King Eomer and carried it to the Lady and Steward of Isengard, bowing as he placed the blade in her grasp.

"I am only alive because of the sacrifice of Faramir, my Lady," he said. "He fell while defending me and my countrymen from the Balrog. And much as it pains me to give such a report, he did not fall alone. Merry, Pippin, and Eorl are also no more. High King Elessar was badly wounded as well."

"Thank you, Ring Bearer," she said. And then, raising Gurthang over her head, she shook away the tears, cleared her throat, and sang:

Eulogy

(_Eowyn's Lament for Faramir_)

Someone whom I love off to war did go riding

defending our faith and preserving our way

I prayed in God's love that they would be abiding

And now in God's grace they will stay

For though made victorious through escapades glorious

in bringing their foe to defeat

someone whom I love off to war did go riding

and turned down Eternity's street

And there in That Place we will meet

As she finished her lament, Steward Thengel and his horsemen rode through the city gate. The High Princess, who had left her father's side and come into the outer courtyard when the city was attacked, rushed forward and fell into his arms as the son of Eowyn dismounted. It had not occurred to Samwise to wonder why the husband and his wife did not face the danger together. He quietly addressed the question to Laurelin.

"It was not for lack of desire," she assured him. "It was a great honor for the Steward to be charged with the defense of our capital city. I very much wished to be there with him, and it was not for fear of Nargurth. But my mother knew she would have a part in the forging of the Weapon, and she did not want to altogether abandon the vigil of the Seeing Stone. She asked me to come to Minas Ithil and operate it in her stead so I could relay what I was witnessing to her and keep all of you informed as well."

The High Princess remained on her husband's arm as Steward Thengel carefully approached the kneeling form of his mother. She still held Gurthang aloft and seemed reluctant to sheath the blade with which Faramir's flaming foe had been critically injured. Glancing anxiously around, Thengel saw by all the torchlight in the courtyard that a number of other people were noticeably missing from its confines.

His last glance of Gurthang had been when Faramir passed through Osgiliath with it. And his father had informed him, albeit erroneously, of Lady Eowyn's death. But now Gurthang was in her possession. And the Steward of Isengard was one of the several people whose absence he had to regard as ominous. Laurelin read the question in his eyes and chose to spare the grieving widow.

"Your father and brother have fallen, my love," she said softly. "And the High King is gravely wounded. My mother is with him now. If she were not the daughter of Lord Elrond, I would hold out no hope for his survival. But he and Legolas did cleave the wings from the very Lord of the Rings, making it possible for the Wizard's Weapon to slay him. Were it not for this feat, we would already be dead; or, perhaps, wishing that we were."

The eyes of Eowyn and Thengel met. He extended his hand to her and helped her up, not that she really needed it. The strange strength that flowed through her form was unabated even by her anguish. But her grief had left her so confused that she was now uncertain of her own actions. She did not know what she was supposed to do. Wanting to do something that might help to console her son, however, she prepared to pass the heirloom in her other hand to Thengel. Radagast had been standing at the edge of their conversation and he abruptly entered it.

"If you will accept my counsel in this matter, Lady Eowyn, I would advise against surrendering the sword," he carefully stated. "The Numenorean blade, which your son already possesses, is easily able to vanquish any evil that arises against Gondor. And the time for such a bequeathal should not be lightly hastened. Your prowess with such a weapon is not unknown. And there may be further opportunity for you to wield your wedding gift; if true, you may think upon Faramir while your enemies behold their doom in your hands."

"I will accept your counsel in all matters, Green Guardian," she quietly responded, "for I know you; yet, I am not certain of exactly how. But you were there when I was reborn. And I understand that you as well have been transformed. Perhaps Samwise will tell me the entire tale, and I do fervently make such request. But already aware am I that the extra years, which have apparently been added to my life, are for a particular purpose. And I perceive that this purpose is not entirely unknown to you."

"I may be able to give you some further guidance," he replied, smiling. "And surely there is time enough for such things and tales as well. But Elessar lies within and cannot come out to us."

As Radagast the Green led the way, King Eomer and Steward Thengel fell in on either side of him. High Princess Laurelin and the Lady Eowyn followed. Samwise trailed behind, trying to make sense of all the innuendo-laced conversation. As much as he loved to hear stories, he felt quite uncomfortable being the narrator except when it came to his kids and grandkids. He began to rehearse exactly how he could recount their tale. It never occurred to him that he was actually summarizing what he would also eventually write in the Red Book.

They paused as the valley was filled with the sound of trumpets. High Prince Telperion and the Armies of Gondor had entered the Morgul Vale. Ringing above them, the Horns of the Tower of the Moon responded. The party turned to continue on up into the stronghold. Samwise objected.

"Shouldn't we wait and tell High Prince Telperion everything that's happened here?" Sam demanded.

"He already knows," answered Laurelin.

"How could he already know?" asked the incredulous Ring Bearer.

"He has the Seeing Stone of Minas Ithil," the High Princess responded. And then, seeing the confusion on the face of the Halfling, she explained, "When Gimli arrived, we were able to use his Palantir; so my mother and I took ours to the High Prince at Morannon. We didn't wait for you there because we needed to be certain my father didn't get back before us. He wasn't in favor of putting a Palantir at risk, but we knew Nargurth would never catch my brother on Whitewind if it came down to that. And my mother greatly desired to see you and to warn you about Shelob, and she believed the wisest course of action was to give the Rings of Power directly to Radagast. So, we simply allowed you to catch up with us instead of meeting you at Morannon. That's why we were still north of Isenmouthe when you found us, although it was really us who found you."

Up into the Houses of Healing they went. The High King was in a large private room off to the side. The rest of the infirmary was empty. Arador and the High Queen arose as the attendant ushered everybody in. Despite the luxurious bedclothes, thick bandages could be seen wrapped around an arm and a leg on the same side of his body as well as around Elessar's midsection. It was obvious that splints had been applied. And the entire chamber was filled with the fragrance of the exotic spices that were also being employed. They almost masked the smell of burnt flesh. It was very difficult for the newcomers to hide their immediate horror as they saw Elessar's condition and understood the extent of his injuries. With great difficulty he smiled feebly, rolling his eyes toward the Palantir on the table beside the bed.

"You've done well, my friends," he said weakly. Peering with disbelief at the Lady Eowyn, he added, "And some, it seems, have faired far better than others; although, in truth, they have also suffered the greatest loss."

"Who would have thought that the very shoulders of Mordor would become a place of many meetings?" she asked in reply. "Outside in the street, people are dancing in the same darkness that was supposed to fill them with despair. With such revelry after midnight, your son may think he has somehow come to the wrong city."

Wincing in pain as he unintentionally laughed at her quip, Elessar responded, "It seems that laughter may not now be the best medicine after all. Perhaps one of you will be so kind as to recount your part in this tale. It would surely serve to keep my mind occupied with something other than my injuries."

"In truth, I cannot explain what happened to me; although, in time, I may come to understand it," Eowyn answered, looking carefully at Radagast. Then, turning to Sam, she said, "But I had already requested that the Ring Bearer give a report of the adventure he shared with his friends. And I would hear him tell of the deeds of their Green Guide as well."

"I would like to hear that too," agreed Elessar. Then, winking at Radagast, he added, "It seems I've mistakenly underestimated the Maiar."

"I'm not much of a bard, I'm afraid," said Samwise apologetically. "But I will do my best."

He did know enough about storytelling to start at the beginning, however. He began with Rosie's funeral and the ale-drenched wake that followed. He described being awakened with a dreadful dream. Considering how inebriated they had been at the time, he congratulated his late comrades for having had the wisdom to recommend the course of action that led them in search of Old Tom Bombadil. And that is where he felt their adventure truly began. For how can you really have an adventure, he asked, without a Wizard? And how do you even know yourself to be in the company of one unless he chooses to reveal himself?

He touched on some of the most relevant points from the elongated history lesson that had occupied most of the journey from Bree to Rivendell. Then, he looked mostly at Arador as he described the transformation of Radagast. And he waxed nearly poetic as he described how shimmering light and music had filled the little room where the Wizard and his Staff were reunited and how the instruments seemed to play by themselves, as he also heard them do again later. As he portrayed the power of Radagast the Green at the High Pass, his own eyes seemed to briefly glitter like emeralds.

After taking a few drinks from a cup, which the attendant handed to him, he told them about the storm that had overtaken them as they were trying to come down out of the Misty Mountains. And then, he described the flight to the ford and how the Wizard had first brought them through the blinding blizzard and then used his power to fortify the ford itself. As he recounted the visit to Rhosgobel, he seemed to visibly relax; laughing about the special smoking mixture that Radagast developed and the warning the Wizard had given Pippin about its use. His tone was incredulous as he spoke about the emerald inferno that Radagast the Green had used to open the way back to the ford. But then, his countenance clouded as he considered the next turn of the story.

He recounted how it suddenly seemed as if they were plagued with one item of awful news after another until, finally, they had no choice but to attempt a nighttime passage of Dol Guldur. Elessar appeared alarmed at Sam's announcement, but he was too enthralled to interrupt. The Ring Bearer described the innumerable masses of Mirkwood pouring forth like a deluge of darkness as they rushed to the river. His voice caught in his throat and he was momentarily overwhelmed with emotion as he began to elucidate the incomprehensible magic by which they were ultimately and unbelievably delivered. Heads turned and eyes regarded Radagast the Green with newfound wonder as Samwise spoke about the magician's mastery. Gimli thought that Eowyn seemed particularly impressed by this part of the retelling.

Next, Samwise focused on the passage over the Dead Marshes, marveling at how easily it was accomplished. This part of the story received stunned silence. Such incomprehensible power had already been alluded to that it barely seemed possible for what Sam was describing to have actually happened. But High Prince Telperion entered the infirmary at this point and agreed with the Ring Bearer's description. Because of all the Ghost Lights that were illuminating the Wizard's Green Bridge, despite the pitch-blackness of the Orodruin-augmented night, his forces had all seen it as they were fleeing southwards along the Harad Road. It was with a sense of vindicated satisfaction that Samwise regarded his mostly open-mouthed audience.

This brought them to Morannon and the Mouth of Mordor. Sam did not dwell long on the meetings with either Telperion or Arwen and Laurelin. He quickly took them through the retrieval of the other Rings of Men, making certain to distinctively state that the Keeper held the record for having obtained three. But in the final discourse of the tale, Samwise could not avoid stealing the show. The incredulous expressions all around him were remarkably reminiscent of the regard that had been afforded the Wizard only moments earlier.

"I'm not really sure how I did that," admitted Samwise, embarrassed by the awed attention.

"Ever since your ascension to the throne, cousin," interjected Arador, speaking to Elessar, "I've heard you refer to the resilience of the Ring Bearers. For my part, I was sure Samwise was unbelievably but merely lucky in having survived that first skirmish with Shelob, despite his subsequent rescue of Frodo. But even with such an Elven blade and the Wizard's ingredient, how do you explain the Halfling's ability to slay outright the evil offspring of Ungoliant herself?"

"Methinks such an explanation exists," Elessar answered, eyeing Radagast, "if only the one who holds such secrets can be persuaded to finally reveal them. For I believe that the answer lies in the origin of the race of the Ring Bearers."

"That's right!" exclaimed Samwise, turning to confront the Wizard. "I've been waiting for you to answer my question ever since Rhosgobel!"

"The hobbits are the result of a blending of races, are they not?" asked High King Elessar pointedly as Radagast hesitated. Several audible gasps could be heard around the spacious room. Even Legolas was among those who seemed immediately alarmed by the allegation, but the Ring Bearer was not.

"Clearly, the wisdom of Numenor yet abides upon the Throne of Gondor," replied Radagast the Green. Ignoring the incredulous expressions on the faces of many of the onlookers, he turned to the Ring Bearer, as he continued, "Some of this history has already been revealed to Samwise. So, I hope you won't mind having to sit through it again. But perhaps the repetition will help to put everything into perspective."

"Would that my son, Prince Elfwine, were here," interjected Eomer. "He dearly loves the lore of all lands. I will have to try to remember it clearly so I can explain it all to him."

"Perhaps," suggested High Princess Laurelin, while looking directly at Samwise, "someone will have the wisdom to render a written record of this account. But say on, Radagast the Green."

"Maglor and Maedhros, the only remaining sons of Feanor, were still in Middle-earth when they stole the Silmarils from the Valar," the Wizard patiently began. "Since they knew the Powers would be traveling southwest to the Grey Havens, they chose to head southeast. That was the direction they needed to go in order to return to their homes anyway, for they lived to the east of Doriath. They had already found that they could not come in contact with the two Silmarils, not without being badly burned. And this made the Sacred Jewels a terrible burden. But they took the Great River. This made it much easier to transport their spoil, and it also enabled their speedy escape.

"The violence with which the Valar united against Morgoth had marred the face of Middle-earth. South of Minas Anor, as they journeyed down the Great River, they soon encountered an ocean where none had been before. And they were afraid to strike out eastward across the northern rim of Doriath. They did not know what other alterations to the landscape might have occurred. And they also feared to be found in possession of the Silmarils, even by their kinsmen. So, they elected to backtrack.

"Turning aside, they entered the Land of Mordor. It was the one place where they believed they might evade pursuit. Sauron had fled into the far corners of Middle-earth when he became aware of the Valar. So, it was briefly abandoned. It was there that, in great despair at his inability to even handle his trophy, Maedhros finally threw himself into a pit of fire: Mount Doom. It is the portal by which the Sacred Jewel went into the Heart of the Earth and the source of its power.

"Maglor almost followed his brother's example. But he had a different part to play. Leaving Mordor by way of Ithilien, he set about building a ship, setting an example that I understand Legolas to now be emulating. His intent was to sail around Middle-earth to the Grey Havens and confirm that the Valar had returned into the West.

"There, a group of Dwarf widows from Sarn Athrad joined him, perhaps being drawn by the Silmaril. Thingol, King of the Hidden Realm of Doriath and husband of Melian the Maia, had retained the services of their husbands. He'd hired them to place the Silmaril, which had been recovered by Beren, into a permanent mounting, the very Nauglamir of the Dwarves; a dangerous proposition, for it placed in jeopardy the ultimate ownership of both heirlooms. But the Dwarves were consumed by their lust for the Sacred Jewel, and so they slew King Thingol and fled with their treasure. However, they did not escape. For Beren himself came upon them at Sarn Athrad and slew all the males, retaking the very same Silmaril that had cost him his hand and even his life. And this is how it came to be handed down to his descendants; first to Dior, and then to Earendil.

"These Dwarf men had been very well paid by King Thingol. Using their wealth, they had taken for themselves wives who were barely of age, intending to have large families. And these wives survived the Battle of Sarn Athrad. But they did not feel as if they could return to their people, because of the treasure that had been taken in the battle. And like Maglor, they just wanted to find a quiet corner of Middle-earth where they could live out the remainder of their days. They became the crew of his ship.

"At Andrast, Ras Morthil, Maglor cast his Silmaril into the sea in order to avert a mutiny. The widows had become consumed by their lust for it, even as their husbands had been. He went ashore to get fresh supplies shortly after that. The people of that region did not understand why he called it the Horn of Darkness. But they correctly perceived that he was an Elf of the Blessed Realm, and they preserved the designation.

"Upon reaching the Grey Havens, Cirdan the Shipwright told him that the Valar had left indeed. But Cirdan also told him of a group that had taken up residence in the Tower Hills and the Far Downs of Westmarch. They were freed by the Valar from Angband but had chosen not to return into the West. They had not quite been turned into Orcs yet, but they were not really Elves anymore either. They were soldiers who had been captured during the Wars of Beleriand, so they were all male. These also joined themselves to Maglor. And the last son of Feanor told Cirdan what had become of the two Silmarils and where he and his party were going.

"Turning north from the Grey Havens, Maglor sailed up the coast to an island. He called it Himling. It was named after the part of Beleriand where he and Maedhros had lived. The widows married the survivors of Angband. Their children were the hobbits. Ulmo, the Vala, appeared to the inhabitants of Himling and explained the fate of the Halflings. They were not the product of a union between the Children of Iluvatar, for the Dwarves were created by one of the Valar. So the hobbits were given life spans more like Men who were also mortal. But they were not enamored of the sea as were their fathers. It pleased them not to dwell upon an island. They returned into Middle-earth.

"They feared to encounter the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, for they were very conscious of the prejudice that would be leveled against them if their true origin was discerned. But they found a pass through the Blue Mountains almost directly east of Himling. They crossed the headwaters of the Lune and then journeyed south, emerging just beyond the Hills of Evendim. It was near the same area where their Elven fathers had taken refuge.

"There was however a small group that didn't turn southwards with the main band. Perhaps they were somewhat more wayward. We were never certain of the influence to which they responded. But they continued eastwards, actually crossing just to the south of the ruin of Angband and around the northern head of the Misty Mountains. They didn't turn southwards until they had reached the Great River. They were the Stoors, who became the River Folk, of whom Smeagol was descended. And this is why the Ring had the peculiar effect on him that it did.

"Bilbo had the One Ring in his possession for about sixty years and it unnaturally prolonged his life, however he began to age rapidly almost as soon as he relinquished it. But Gollum had the Ring for some five hundred years; and yet, when he attempted to seize it again after having been bereft of it for that same sixty-year period, he was still a vigorous contender. The reason he didn't age, as Bilbo did, is that he'd essentially been turned into a kind of Orc. In order to do this, the One Ring had to have utilized his Elven heritage, although it may never have known what aspect of his physiology responded to such techniques. But it was also the part of his ancestry that related to longevity or even immortality. And so his life, such as it had become, was extended in a way that Bilbo's was not. Part of this may have related to the amount of time over which the recipient had the Ring in his possession. But I am certain that it was also determined in no small part by the temperament of the Ring Bearer and the method by which he came to be its keeper.

"This is also the reason Smeagol suffered from such a severely split personality. The part of him that couldn't be turned into an Orc became compartmentalized, for it was derived from the Dwarves. It was almost as if he became a witness to the possession of his very soul. And so, even the part of him that the Ring could not overmaster was driven mad.

"Cirdan knew all about the origin of these races, but he chose to withhold it from the Elves. And this knowledge was the other reason he gave the Ring of Fire to Gandalf. He was foresighted enough to see that the Grey Pilgrim would need it. But he also knew, if Sauron ever regained possession of the One Ring, the Dark Lord would soon exercise mastery over the Three. And then he would know everything that Cirdan knew, including the origin of the hobbits, if the Shipwright still possessed Narya. That would place them in great danger. And Cirdan also knew where Maglor had disposed of the other Silmaril.

"Although he did not understand their source, he had misgivings about passing his Ring to Saruman. But he gave it to Gandalf, without any of the knowledge he was trying to protect. But in case that knowledge was ever needed, he chose the one Istari who seemed least likely to come into direct conflict with the Lord of the Rings. He told me.

"Initially, the hobbits were well aware of their own origin. But it sounded like the stuff of myth. Eventually, after long generations, a hobbit named Baggins made the journey back to the island to see if there was any truth to the legend. But a tidal wave had swept Himling clean of any trace of previous habitation during the fall of Numenor. And all of the Elves, who had remained there in sorrow after the passing of their Dwarf wives, finally made the journey to the Blessed Realm by way of the Halls of Mandos. And the truth about the origin of the hobbits was lost to all, except Cirdan and myself. And this is how the Ring Bearers and their companions were able to do things that were beyond the abilities of their forbearers. They are the children of Elves and Dwarves. This is also why Treebeard couldn't find them in his list of all living things. They happened afterwards."

"It may be, then, that the Halflings will eventually all follow their Elven ancestors across the Furthest Sea to the Far Shores of the Blessed Realm," observed Elessar. "And then if all the Dwarves finally disappear beneath the surface of Middle-earth, only Men will remain to remember the other races with which they once shared the world. I fear the possibility that such knowledge, like the Halflings' record of their origin, will eventually be lost."

Radagast was silent. The power of speech seemed to have even eluded Legolas.

"What are we supposed to do now?" asked Sam, unable to endure the brief silence. "Am I supposed to take the Ring back to Mount Doom again?"

"Such a course of action would be most unwise. Although its power was doubtlessly diminished during its interaction with the Weapon, it would be wrong to think it no longer dangerous. And the dungeons of Angband run very deep, beyond even the reach of the Seeing Stones. If any other evils yet lie hidden in its hideous depths, another attempt at summoning the surviving strength of Sauron might still be made. As long as even the residue of it yet remains, the One Ring will be an invitation for a further encounter with ancient evil. It cannot stay in Middle-earth," replied a strangely familiar voice.

Searching for the source of the response, they discovered the image in the Palantir. It was none other than Gandalf the White. There was laughter in his kindly eyes as he smiled at their obvious surprise.

Before anyone could hazard a response, he continued, "When the One Ring was remade, all that had previously been brought under its influence became aware of its renewed presence. Just as the Phial of Galadriel reawakened, so did the Three Elf Rings here in the Blessed Realm. It was with great satisfaction that we observed the ministry of Radagast. We had already taken steps to ensure his success, for we are not unaware of the things that transpire in your world. Nor can this success be attributed to him alone, for many played crucial roles in bringing about the final defeat of Nargurth. And some, as a consequence, have left Middle-earth and are here with me now; and some, whose work is now complete, will soon be leaving as well. And yet, it might not be whom you would think. Radagast, you must remain."

The Green Wizard was clearly confused by this declaration, but Gandalf explained, "There is yet work for you to do. I know you are still mourning for Goldberry. And it was through Saruman's deception that you were made to believe in the blessing of the Valar concerning your union. But you are far from alone in grieving for a spouse, although your passion runs deep. Master Gamgee and Lady Eowyn both share your pain. The Last Ring Bearer is being called Home. Lord Gimli, your work is done as well. The call of the sea has already awakened in the heart of your friend, Legolas; and his prayer that you would also be granted passage on the ship he is about to build has been approved. That for which Treebeard has long sought is here with me as well, and it is time for the Shepherd of the Forest to retire from his tending. He is also to take ship with those I have named. And I'm sure Lady Eowyn understands, despite sharing a loss like your own, that a Divine Purpose now holds sway over her life and that you, Radagast, are part of it. Both of you must have time to heal, first. But I will tell you now plainly that the Valar will bless your union with offspring. And even as her surviving son with Faramir has become a Steward of Gondor, so your children together will be the Stewards of Middle-earth."

"This work to which you refer," ventured Radagast, sounding hopeful, "has only to do with the raising of a family?"

"Something evil festers in the heart of Middle-earth, something we failed to see," the White Wizard replied. "But the Great Eye was aware of it, apparently even in league with it. And a time will finally come for cleansing the world of its woe as well."

"And where will I find it?" inquired Radagast, fearing to ask its identity instead.

"You needn't look for it. In time, it will seek you out," answered Gandalf, mysterious as ever. "And when that time comes, look not to your own counsel. You will be told what needs to be done."

"Gandalf," Samwise cautiously interjected. "Radagast tells us hobbits are related to Elves and Dwarves. Did you know?"

"Like many, I have tried to give counsel to others without having all the facts myself," he wryly replied. "It was quite humbling to learn the truth of the matter; almost as humbling in fact as when I learned that the One Ring had been in the Shire ever since Bilbo's return. But I also now see other truths in which your heritage played a part. That critical moment, in which Bilbo finally relinquished the One Ring, was also the last moment of his life spent underground. He immediately abandoned his Dwarf-like dwelling and went to go live with the Elves. The One Ring drove him to renounce the part of him that was Dwarf and only embrace his Elven heritage. And the plan backfired. But if Bilbo had not surrendered it in that critical moment, before disavowing that crucial part of his joint heritage, he probably would have never been able to do so. It would have been necessary to take it by force."

Eowyn started to ask something but choked up as tears overflowed her face, and Gandalf the White continued, "The Red Book should be taken to Elanor in Westmarch, along with news of her father's passage. The Thain's Book, which was brought here to Gondor by Peregrin, should also be taken to the Shire to be kept at the Great Smials. Neither of these records needs to reflect the manner in which Merry and Pippin perished. Only the copy kept here should be so complete, and Samwise should finish it. And there need not be any sense of urgency with the returning of those tomes. Those who have suffered great personal loss must have time to recover. And the crossing of Elessar, I'm afraid, will precede that of the ship about which I have spoken. But when you are ready, have Legolas sail his ship to the Isle of Tolfalas. There, thrust the Weapon into the Sea. It will summon the ship that will bear those whom I have mentioned the rest of the way into the West. The One Ring and the Weapon cannot stay in Middle-earth. Choose among yourselves whom you would allow the honor of acting as escort to the departure point. And for now, my dear friends, farewell."

(_The reader has probably ascertained by now that, in addition to interviews made possible by supernatural means, much of the material for this trilogy was extracted from a recently recovered copy of the Red Book of the Periannath. Regrettably, I am not allowed to reveal the precise place where this recovery occurred; but a look at the maps, at the end of Volume Three, should give you a general idea of where this had to have happened. As the region remains war-town, with many territories in dispute, I was placed under an injunction to keep safe its source_.)

"What are we supposed to do now?" asked Sam again, intentionally replicating his original tone and getting a few laughs in response.

The tenor of the Green Wizard was however quite serious as he turned to the High King and said, "I would deeply appreciate it if you would send Arador and the Cavalry of Gondor with me. There is a matter that requires investigation. And I think it most unwise to delay."

The High King had the countenance of someone who was fading fast as he asked in reply, "What matter is that?"

"The reconnaissance of the region of Rhun," Radagast replied, looking at Samwise. "The White Wizard said I needn't go looking. He didn't say I shouldn't go looking. But if I have already received counsel as to where to look, should I not heed it?"

The High King looked back and forth between the other men in the room as he said, "I will need my son to remain here and govern. Repairs have to be made to this city. Steward Thengel must look to the funeral of his father. Eomer may accompany you if he so desires. But Gondor and Rohan are currently under a state of emergency. I will fully understand if he wishes instead to return to his realm and relay the news of Nargurth's defeat. Arador, I'm placing you in command of the Cavalry of Gondor. You'll escort Radagast and do whatever the situation requires, or as he instructs. Telperion, you will need to preside over the transference of command. The horsemen must be made to understand that they are to obey the orders of both Radagast and my cousin just as they would my own. And now, I find that I am suddenly very tired."

Samwise tried to follow Radagast as almost everybody was leaving the infirmary, but turning to him the Wizard said, "I'm sorry, my good friend, but I cannot permit you to accompany me on this adventure. You heard Gandalf. In the course of time, a ship will come from the West to bear you hence. It is not meet for me to hazard you. You must now complete the Record of the Ring Bearers. I was there when High Queen Arwen insisted that you be a guest of Gondor for a time, and that time has now come. But take heart; if you are as mistaken in this matter as I hope, I shall not be long."

Radagast the Green turned and left with Arador, King Eomer, and the High Prince. The High Princess approached the Ring Bearer, saying, "The city will now soon empty of its many visitors. Things will then be far less cramped. And the members of the Cavalry of Gondor, who normally reside in Minas Ithil, will not be using their lodgings as soon as we had thought. I can now provide you with much more suitable quarters. Since you will require room within which to work, Samwise, I will assign you some extremely spacious accommodations."

"Will you stay on in the Tower of the Moon to be with your father?" asked Pippin. "Or will you return to Osgiliath with your husband?"

"Other arrangements were made while you were speaking to the Wizard, Samwise," she told him. "Osgiliath is the capital city. My brother will rule in my father's stead from there. My husband and I will remain here. My mother may require my help in tending to the wounds of the High King for as long as we are afforded that opportunity."

Samwise seemed to uncharacteristically stutter as he asked, "Did you then make the same choice as your mother? Did you also choose mortality because of your love for the Steward?"

"I am closer to Elven kind than any, save my mother and brother," she said. "But the choice, of which you speak, was already made; for once mortality is chosen, that linage is forever established. In a real way, my mother made the same choice as Elrond's brother, Elros, the first King of Numenor."

The Cavalry of Gondor was gone for several weeks. Because Gimli had allowed them to take his Seeing Stone with them, it was well known that their delay was not the result of misfortune. The extra time was simply spent circumnavigating the Sea of Rhun. Although they had gone equipped for trouble, they were also prepared to be envoys of peace. But there was no one to whom they could make such friendly overtures. The region was entirely deserted. They encountered several villages that appeared to have been recently abandoned, but there was no indication of what had happened to all the inhabitants. Arador believed they had been in league with Mirkwood and that, to their ultimate destruction, the alliance had gone sour. But even Radagast could not tell for certain.

In the months that followed, Radagast the Green and Lady Eowyn were seen together with increasing frequency. Samwise spent most of his time finishing the Record of the Ring Bearers. He sometimes visited Elessar, but with faltering frequency as the High King's condition continued to deteriorate.

King Eomer had gone with Radagast to the region of Rhun. But as soon as he returned, he hastened to Rohan. And having delivered the news of the Balrog's defeat and secured his realm from its evacuated condition, he returned to Gondor with his son, Prince Elfwine. The young ruler spent most of his time with the High King. The heir-apparent to the throne of Rohan was anxious for the opportunity to extract all the ancient information possible from the Heir of Numenor. He seemed to regard Elessar as an uncle, and the High King obviously returned the familial feelings.

As the Lord of Moria, Gimli was not as willing, as apparently was the King of Rohan, to make his people wait. To him, it was critical to send word of Nargurth's defeat to the refugees in the Dimrill Dale. And as much as his group wanted to be present to see him off when he took ship with Legolas, they were even more anxious to be reunited with their families. But they were also, understandably for members of their kind, anxious to determine if they would be compensated for their contribution to the Weapon, since they now understood that it was fated to leave Middle-earth.

High King Elessar reminded them that Gondor had hardly been the sole focus of the Balrog's designs. Nargurth had endangered all of Middle-earth. And others had paid the ultimate price. But he offered to do something else for them, more as a gesture of good will than as any kind of actual payment. With his Numenorean abilities, he used the Seeing Stone to find a place where it would be possible to open a new doorway into the western side of Moria. And he sent the stone wrights, who had built the city of Minas Ithil from the cliffs of the Mountains of Shadow, to complete the construction of the new West Gate. It was shortly after this that the High King finally succumbed to his injuries. He was laid to rest with all that anybody had been able to recover of the remains of Merry and Pippin.

One day, about six months after the fall of Nargurth, Radagast and Eowyn finally made an official announcement of their engagement. Everyone tried very hard to feign surprised delight. High King Telperion, having just ascended to the Throne of Men, prepared to preside over the nuptials. All of the necessary preparations were made. The ceremony was breathtaking.

At its beginning, Radagast and Eowyn sang to each other. Then, during a musical interlude, they first exchanged their vows and then they exchanged the rings. Each of the three major cities of Gondor now had a courtyard with a White Tree and, thanks to the contributions of Gimli and Eowyn, a Palantir. But Minas Ithil had become the scene of so much activity that it seemed the obvious choice for the ceremony. The Tree of the King, before which the wedding was conducted, was the same one from which Elessar had cut the branch for the Shaft of the Weapon. It cast forth its alabaster leaves as Radagast and Eowyn became husband and wife. Turning toward those assembled, they repeated the verses, singing:

_**Madrigal**_

(_The Wedding March of Radagast and Eowyn_)

Come and take my hand

Let us walk this land

joined as one

and become

like the stars and sun

Joined in wedded bliss

Sealed now with a kiss

symbol of

endless love

like that from above

Like Two Trees whose Light will never die

Like the sun and stars up in the sky!

Surrendering his Staff for the final time, according to the wise counsel of Gandalf the White, Radagast planted it beside the Tree that was Broken and watered all the exposed earth with the Phial of Galadriel. Both immediately began to blossom. Turning to the astonished Telperion, the Wizard told him the saplings, which would come of that union, would ensure that the White Tree of the King would be found for centuries to come in Minas Tirith, Minas Ithil, and Osgiliath.

The newlyweds received many wedding gifts. Perhaps most noteworthy was the deed to the Tower of Orthanc. However, they thought it best to remain in Gondor while they honeymooned, for they were painfully aware that they had only a brief time now to spend with those who would shortly be taking ship. Preparations for the journey to Tolfalas were already beginning. And even though a vestige of the Valar was to remain, they knew that the honeymoon would conclude with a passage from Middle-earth.

Finally, the morning arrived for the journey to Belegaer, the Great Sea. Radagast the Green went to get the Ring Bearer, and he discovered that Samwise had apparently been up all night. The floor of the room was covered with maps. The bleary Halfling had apparently lost track of time. He responded to the Wizard's presence by proceeding to blow out all the many candles that he had been using to illuminate his industry, obviously oblivious to the morning light that was already spilling into his chambers.

"Do you really think it's wise to stay up all night before a long journey?" asked Radagast softly, gently rebuking him.

"I thought I might be able to sleep on the ship," Samwise responded, slurring his words in his sleepiness.

"Have you ever even been on a real ship, Ring Bearer?" Radagast demanded jokingly. "Not everyone has the ability to easily endure its pitching motions, let alone sleep."

"Well, even if I can't sleep on the ship," the Ring Bearer replied, "I suppose I'll be able to rest on the other side."

"Yes, I suppose you shall at that," the Wizard conceded. He then inquired, "And what has kept you up all night anyway?"

"These maps," said Samwise. "Let me show you something. I'm concerned that the anger of Maglor's Silmaril may have been reaching up through the waterways and into Middle-earth for a long time. Who lives along the River Lefnui?"

"We could use a Palantir to confirm this," Radagast suggested. "But as far as I know, that region has long been uninhabited – although I don't know why."

"That's the closest bay to the place where Maglor threw his Silmaril into the sea," Samwise observed. "The next river outlet to the east is the one that leads up to the Haunted Mountain. The inhabitants of that land all became thieves and killers, even going so far as to betray Isildur. And that was a long time ago, around the same time Sauron lost the One Ring."

"Where are you going with all this?" asked Radagast, sounding suddenly concerned.

"The first bay to the north of Andrast is the mouth of the Isen," Samwise carefully answered. "And it was near the headwaters of the Isen that Saruman turned against the White Council and became a pawn of the Enemy. North of that is the Greyflood, a finger of which threads all the way up to the pool in front of the Moria Gate, which is where the Fellowship had its encounter with the Watcher in the Water. Even Gandalf seemed to be afraid of that thing. Do you have any idea where such a creature might've come form?"

"No, Ring Bearer, I do not," replied the Wizard, looking troubled. "And I can see you're back to asking me questions I cannot answer."

"If I'm really correct about the Silmaril, it would be most especially angry with the Dwarves," Samwise suggested. "You said it was thrown into the sea to prevent a mutiny. That would explain why it came against them in Moria, preventing them from escaping the Orcs. The Watcher in the Water even killed one of the Dwarves, Oin."

"But your entire premise is based on the assumption that the Silmarils are actually conscious," objected Radagast pointedly. "And I can assure you that they are not."

"Neither were the trees until the Elves got to them," replied the Ring Bearer with surprising fervor. "And although they are immortal and their ways far beyond my grasp, their magic is certainly less than that of the Maiar. But Morgoth was originally one of the Valar, whose power is far above even that of your race. He possessed the Silmarils all throughout the Wars of Beleriand, a period of time amounting to many centuries. And if I understood your personal history correctly, you were already in Middle-earth when they were stolen. So, if they've been raised to consciousness since then, you would have no way of knowing it."

"We really need to be going, Samwise," said Radagast evenly and as patiently as he could. He was clearly perplexed by the Ring Bearers observations. "Please come to the point as quickly as possible."

"The current of the Great River and the Falls of Rauros could very well have delayed the reach of the anger of the Silmaril, or perhaps it was actually the power of the Elf Ring at Lothlorien. The Ring of Water might have held it back without Galadriel even being aware of it. And Osgiliath was deserted by its residents long before the power of Sauron could really be blamed," Samwise continued. "But Galadriel has been gone for decades. And Lothlorien just burned. It was in fact right after we received news of this terrible disaster that a freak storm descended on us from out of the north. At the time, you believed some evil force was causing it. But you couldn't identify it. Now, look at this."

Samwise indicated a place on the map where the headwaters of the River Greylin and the Forest River, which passed eastward through Mirkwood, both emerged from the same vale in the Grey Mountains.

"Enough runoff from snowmelt or a strong enough storm could temporarily link these two waterways," suggested Samwise. He then cautiously concluded, "It may be that the spite of the Silmaril has just found its way to the last stronghold of Darkness in Middle-earth. And the Forest River empties into Long Lake. But from Long Lake, the Celduin reaches southeastwards and joins with the Carnen before emptying into the Sea of Rhun. And that's where you found the deserted villages but didn't find Ungoliant."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Radagast carefully. "Telperion has only just taken his father's place. To launch a full-scale campaign against Mirkwood isn't his most pressing problem, though he surely knows it was part of his ancestor's ultimate agenda."

"If I'm right, there will be other evidence. And it will erupt along the Great River," replied the Ring Bearer. "If the Beornings revolt against the King's Guard at the Old Ford, or if strife breaks out between Gondor and the descendants of Prince Imrahil at Dol Amroth, then something will finally have to be done about Maglor's Silmaril. And your commission in Middle-earth may have been extended for just such a purpose."

"Your counsel in this matter will not be forgotten, Ring Bearer," Radagast assured him. "But it is time now for us to go. Many are waiting to send you on your way with their well wishes."

As the Wizard and the Ring Bearer emerged from the well-built bastion and out into the outer courtyard of Minas Ithil, a chorus of applause echoed off the towering walls. High King Telperion awaited them. Arwen and Laurelin were there as well. Steward Thengel was at the side of the High Princess. Treebeard and Eowyn were waiting at the city gate.

"Legolas has his ship moored at Osgiliath," said the High King, struggling to master his voice against the emotions that were rising to overpower him. "He is waiting for you there. As for my family and myself, we fear to set forth in such a sylvan ship. We might be overwhelmed by the allure of the ocean. I am so sorry. But we think it best if we say our goodbyes here."

Samwise struggled to maintain his composure as each member of the High Royal Family embraced him in turn.

"King Eomer and Prince Elfwine are also at Osgiliath and they'll be going with you to Tolfalas," said High Queen Arwen as she was releasing the Ring Bearer.

Amidst many tears, the travelers finally stepped through the gate and set out upon the road. The entire Cavalry of Gondor was assembled there. The soldiers cried out and sounded their trumpets as the party emerged. And although the mounts, with which the horseless were presented, would bear them only to Osgiliath, for they would take to the Great River from there, the gifts were made with great ceremony.

With Treebeard striding beside them and Arabel in the lead, the party then headed toward the capital city. But until they had left the Morgul Vale, the eyes of Gimli and the Ring Bearer were turned ever back towards Minas Ithil. The rising sun silhouetted the cross-shaped tower that had first greeted Samwise to the city. But he had seen an even greater light arise from within its confines and empower the Weapon that had ended the dread of Darkness. And he knew how enamored the Dwarf Lord was of the entire royal family.

At Osgiliath they boarded the ship that would bear them to Tolfalas. King Eomer and his son, Prince Elfwine, also came aboard. Arador, having been temporarily appointed as Steward of the White City, came to the capital to see the party off as well. Samwise could easily see that it was the principal city of Gondor. The restoration had only really been beginning when the marriage of Faramir and Eowyn brought him eastward before.

And then, they launched. With Minas Tirith on one side and Minas Ithil on the other, they left the capital of Gondor. Sweeping below the Emyn Arnen, they quickly found themselves south of the mouth of the River Erui; and then, they were passing between South Ithilien and Lebennin. A strong breeze from the south began to announce their proximity to the sea. And then, they saw it.

The journey to the Grey Havens, decades earlier, had only really revealed a little sliver of the sea. But this was the enormity of the ocean. Leaving the Ethir Anduin, they made their way south to the Island of Tolfalas. Everyone disembarked. Samwise carried the One Ring. According to the earlier instruction of the White Wizard, Radagast thrust the blade of the Weapon into the ocean. Withdrawing it, he handed it to Legolas.


	11. Chapter 11

**A Passage from Middle-earth**

**Epilogue**

Almost instantly, a ship emerged from the mist-shrouded sea. As it approached, its several occupants could be easily identified. Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel were all aboard. Recognizing his friends from afar, Gimli shouted out an exclamation of joy. Lady Eowyn commented on the fact that, for a Dwarf, he certainly seemed enamored of the Elder race. Gimli replied that in all of his life he had only ever loved two women. One, he said, was Galadriel and she was clearly too old for him; the other, he said with a grin, was now far too young. Radagast looked the other way and pretended not to have overheard the Dwarf Lord's comment as Eowyn grinned from ear to ear. And then, the approaching ship anchored just offshore.

"Since you helped slay a Balrog, I suppose that finally evens the score between us," Legolas called out as he effortlessly leapt up to the deck of the splendid ship. "So I guess we'll have to let you come along, Gimli."

"Lucky for you!" the Dwarf Lord loudly replied. "For if you and your long-eared companions had tried to sail off without me, I would've tested the Mithril in this axe against the hull of your ship!"

"That would be most unwise, Master Dwarf," said Gandalf, jokingly scolding him. "We're far from the dry-docks of the Grey Havens. But perhaps you had better just come aboard and stow your beloved axe."

Understanding what an honor was being afforded their longtime friend, Samwise stood by and allowed Gimli to be the next to board the marvelous vessel. But he noticed that none of its occupants ventured down from the craft, and he wondered if they were perhaps prohibited from coming into contact with the Mortal Lands. He was keenly aware however of a particular opportunity that was being missed. And from his place on the shore, he addressed his comment to Lord Elrond.

"If Arwen had known that you'd be part of the crew," the Ring Bearer suggested, "I'm sure she would have come at least long enough to see you and let you meet your grandchildren."

"Such a reunion would have been bittersweet for its brevity," the Elf Lord replied. "Even as the requirement is laid upon her children, she must come to the Far Shore by another road now. And there, we shall all know an eternal gathering."

Samwise did not think the words of Elrond to be consistent with what he knew about Elven lore and the fates of the races. But he was not about to match wits with the son of Earendil. And he also remembered Elven evasiveness well enough to avoid the pursuit of answers that did not seem to be forthcoming. Like his companions, he turned his attention instead to a reunion of an altogether different type. Treebeard had followed Gimli to the gangplank, and his attention was fastened upon the Wizard at its top.

"Young Master Gandalf!" he bellowed. "Many are the trees I have raised in Middle-earth. It is a strange fate indeed that I should be raised above the waters and whisked away from its sorrowful shores by such timbers as those upon which you now stand."

"There is no sorrow where they are taking you, my old friend," the Wizard replied. "And there are many who are waiting to receive you on the other side, the Entwives whom you have sought for so long. Come aboard now."

"Humph!" answered the Ancient Ent. "Perhaps you will be less hasty when we get there."

Samwise grinned, amused at the response. As he waited for the Ent to clear the gangplank, Radagast walked around him and went aboard, much to his surprise. It was only a short visit though. Radagast received the White Staff from Gandalf, and then he quickly disembarked.

Leaving the ship he walked directed toward Samwise, who asked, "I thought it was for lack of your Staff that you were immune to the wiles of the One Ring. How then can you accept such a portent of power from another?"

"It was by the White Wizard's leave that I accepted his Staff," Radagast explained. "None but the Dark Lord could have wielded the One, until it was destroyed and recalled by another. Being devoid of the earthen power of its malicious master, it would've seized upon any other power like its own. However, since I had forsaken the force of my own Staff, becoming Bombadil the Brown, it didn't consider me a worthy conquest. But by the very same token; had I not been promoted to Radagast the Green, Nargurth would have simply broken my Brown Staff and had done with me."

Turning, Sam faced the rest of the assembly. Lady Eowyn, King Eomer, and Prince Elfwine all converged on him at the same time. And the Ring Bearer then said his final goodbyes. The Lady of Isengard was the first to address him.

"Where it not for the courage of the Esquire, I would have passed from the world long ago," she quietly said. "Naught but the stoutness of his heart and the swiftness of his blade saved my life before the walls of the White City. I would give you a gift to carry across for me, but I have nothing adequate for the occasion. So, I ask that you take the gift of my loyal friendship with you into the eternal place that is now to be your home. Who knows? Perhaps we shall meet again there one day."

Samwise was totally incapable of speech by this point. He had to make an effort not to sully her garment with his tears as she gave him a prolonged, parting embrace, saying, "Ring Bearer, all of us owe you our lives. Frodo would never have succeeded without you. And I'm not even sure the threat of Nargurth could have been thwarted save for the critical part you played. Finally now, your burden shall be removed. It is only this knowledge that makes your departure acceptable, for I would keep you and your friends here with me forever if it were up to me. Go now to your rest with the blessings of all who dwell in Middle-earth."

As Eowyn turned away, King Eomer stepped before Samwise, saluting him after the fashion of the Riders of Rohan, saying, "Though one of our warriors were to have ten times your stature, yet his heart would not be as big. You snatched victory from the jaws of defeat when deliverance seemed beyond all hope. Indeed, were you to remain among us longer, your further deeds would doubtlessly make your example that much harder to match!"

After his father finally turned away, Prince Elfwine moved to stand before Samwise, saying, "I am so very sorry that greater opportunity wasn't afforded for our acquaintance. I get to Gondor so seldom, and I have long sought for a chance to speak at length with the High King. But I wish I had gotten to know you better, Ring Bearer; for you are very highly esteemed in the eyes both of the Men of the Mark and of Numenor."

The Ring Bearer surprised him by throwing back his Elven cloak and revealing the blade with which he had slain Shelob. As everyone looked on, he carefully unfastened the scabbard from his belt and handed the sheathed sword to the Prince of Rohan, saying, "I doubt very much that I'll have need of this where I'm going. And it's the last gift that I have to give. It would sure please me greatly if you'd accept it. And may it help to keep your lands safe."

Radagast was the last to say farewell to the Ring Bearer. Turning slowly, Samwise went up into the ship. He stood at the railing and watched the shore of Middle-earth disappear into the distance. Trying to orient himself by using the sun, Sam discovered that it suddenly seemed to be directly overhead. He turned to Gandalf uncertainly.

"Will we be sailing around Andrast?" he asked, thinking fatigue was causing his confusion.

"No Samwise. This ship doesn't follow a course that can be found on any map," the White Wizard replied.

"I don't understand," the Ring Bearer candidly admitted.

"We're sailing along the Straight Way," explained Gandalf. "Its intersection with the world is independent of physical coordinates. It is as much spiritual as it is corporeal. It was left for the use of the Elves after the fall of Numenor. And this is the last ship that will ever make such a crossing."

"What do you mean?" demanded Samwise fearfully.

"The time has come for you to rid yourself of your burden, Ring Bearer," Gandalf answered, opening his hand to receive the One Ring, which had been again entrusted to Sam. Accepting it, he reached out toward Legolas, saying, "The Weapon of Radagast also has a final part to play."

Samwise had wondered about the other passengers onboard, but did not dare to ask the reason for their presence. He quickly took note when Elrond and Galadriel stepped forward and also produced tokens of extreme power, the Elf Rings with which they had left Middle-earth. Gandalf extracted Narya from his own vesture. And suddenly, the One Ring and the Three Elf Rings over which it had once sought mastery were all together before them, along with the Weapon by which the most recent threat had been thwarted. Sam and his companions stood silently in stunned anticipation of the unknown.

Gandalf attached the Two Elf Rings, which Elrond and Galadriel had given him, to the ends of the hand-guard above the hilt. And it had quite apparently been fashioned to receive them. He then inserted the Ring of Fire into a perfectly fitting hollow place, which was located where the hilt passed through the hand-guard. Then, spinning the Weapon around, as Gimli and Treebeard both angled to observe his industry, Gandalf revealed another such indentation on the other side.

Holding up the One Ring, Gandalf said, "Such power is too dangerous to leave in the world. Neither can the Undying Lands be physically joined anymore to Middle-earth."

"But how will anyone ever again be able to find their way from Middle-earth to the Far Shore?" Sam demanded in objection. He then paused and added, in confused consternation, "And I'm not really sure I ever understood why it was called Middle-earth anyway."

"Because it is the battleground between the eternal extremes of good and evil," said Gandalf. "But there will always be a Hallowed Way, a Path for the souls of all those who aspire to serve the cause of goodness! And Darkness will not find it!"

And then, he inserted the One Ring into the Weapon. It immediately gleamed with a piercing white flame. Swinging it around over his head, he held it point-down out over the stern of the ship, preparing to release it into the waiting waves.

"Do not be deceived by its cruel appearance! For this is the ultimate tool by which the Creator and His creation are finally reconciled! It reaches across all eternity to shut what was open, and to open what was shut!" he proclaimed.

And then, the White Wizard let it fall. A line of lightning and steam erupted in the sea behind their craft, spreading to the left and right as far as the eye could see. The waves seemed to retreat in either direction from the supernatural schism, propelling their vessel forward, away from the rift. Only moments later, they were stunned to discover that they could actually see stars through the ever-widening gap. They watched as the far ocean receded into a shining, cloud-covered, blue green orb in the distance. But as Treebeard, Gimli, and Samwise continued to watch the ever-extending gulf behind the ship; they suddenly realized that some kind of amazing, silver light was casting their shadows over the stern of the vessel.

As they turned to discover its source, Gandalf said, "Now, you see us as we really are."

Elrond, Galadriel, and Legolas each glowed with an enthralling iridescence while the White Wizard was revealed as a being of almost totally overpowering magnificence.

Treebeard, Gimli, and Samwise were so transfixed it took several moments for them to comprehend that the Far Shore was now very close. Nine figures were standing there, waiting to meet them. In the center was the beaming countenance of Frodo. On one side of him were Bilbo and Rosie. On the other were Merry and Pippin. Standing immediately behind them were Elessar, Boromir, Faramir, and Eorl. And the Entwives were gathered around them.

A sudden motion in the midst of the onlookers abruptly brought their attention to the central most of their members. By the Light of the Blessed Realm, and in preparation for the nuptials, the Shepherd of the Forest had begun to bud. Backlit by the light of Valinor, other trees were also seen to be moving. Gimli wondered if they might be the fallen Ents.

Looking upon the faces of their welcoming committee, Samwise recalled being told that the souls of slain Elves return to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor; but they didn't know the fate of Men or of the Dwarves, who were created by one of the Valar. And Gimli was well aware of the history of the Elves and the difference in the Fates of the Children of Iluvatar, among whom the Dwarves are not even reckoned. He could not understand the presence of hobbits and Men who had died.

Indicating those who were gathered on the Far Shore, he asked, "How can this be?"

"When the Vala, Ulmo, appeared before the son of Huor," Gandalf replied, "Tuor was forever altered by that encounter with the Divine. After that, he clung no longer to his worldly ways but he became a citizen of the Blessed Realm; first by belief, and then by marriage. Thus did the altering of the Fate of Men begin. And after the Numenoreans proved that Paradise could not exist on Earth, they were expelled from that Holy Place of Promise during the Breaking of the World. But even within that fall, a great good was accomplished; for the Blessed Realm was removed from within the Walls of the World and placed outside of Arda. And the souls of all disembodied spirits may now resort to the Far Shore regardless of their race, so long as they accept the sacrifice by which Iluvatar has imbued mortals with Life Everlasting. They must become conformed to the image of Earendil, of whom Tuor was a herald. They must set aside the concerns of this world, living only for the Divine, believing that Iluvatar can make them worthy to be joint heirs with the Eldar; indeed, that He already has. Even of old the Valar declared to the Elves in Valinor that Men shall join in the Second Music of the Ainur."

Looking upon the resurrected faces of his dearly departed friends, Gimli could not help but be overwhelmed by the joy of the reunion. And Samwise the Brave, upon seeing his lifelong friend, Frodo, and his beloved wife, Rosie, had laughed himself to tears before ever they docked. But the echoing words of Gandalf the White resounded clearly in their ears as he explained:

"Your deeds in themselves have not earned you this entrance. But you have shown your faith by your works. Access into the heavenly Straight Way, the only Passage now between Middle-earth and the Blessed Realm, can't be attained by any act of strength or self-righteousness, but only by the Grace of Eru. Therein are you to be commended. For you took no thought of yourselves or your own lives, but only what He had called you to do. And so, you have found the Passage from Middle-earth."

(_**Here Ends the Tale of the One Ring**_)

_**The Highlander Hop**_

_(Instrumental)_

_**What Wings Are These**_

(_Lyric by Lisa R. Melendez_)

What wings are these that never flew

these wondrous arms that comfort you?

No winds can tear you from their shield

where resting safely you are healed

The mighty wings of sovereign love

Assurance from our Lord above

No matter what the future brings

you're safe beneath His sheltering wings

What wings are these that never cease

to comfort you and bring you peace

these loving arms that hold you near

to brush away your every tear?

The mighty wings of sovereign love

Assurance from our Lord above

No matter what the future brings

you're safe beneath His sheltering wings

What wings are these you cannot see

that shelter you and make you free?

What love beyond imaginings

this mercy of His sheltering wings?

_**Shamrock**_

_(Instrumental)_

_**A Passage from Middle-earth**_

(_Title Track_)

There is a Passage

from Middle-earth

and it runs

right on through the setting sun

And if you find it

won't you please wait there for me

on the Far Shore

there beyond the Furthest Sea?

Where only Words of Life are spoken

Where all our hearts are no longer broken

And what we call love is just a token

of the love, all the love

waiting there for you and me!

_**Evermore**_

(_A poem of the Blessed Realm, by Samwise Gamgee_)

(_Not to be found in the Record of the Ring Bearers_)

The Vingilot was touching down in Valinor as I arrived.

And numbered among those who'd yielded up their lives and thus survived,

I saw at last the Silmaril, whose Light Divine shown from its core,

upon the brow of He who nightly sails the skies of Evermore.

I touched the hand of He who sent the Light Divine to set me free

when all the Hosts of Darkness like an army did encompass me,

whose intercession opened up the Passage to the Hither Shore

and crucified mortality for all who dwell in Evermore.

I know the names and deeds of every single person in this place,

as if their very histories were somehow written on each face.

It's like we bear within our very countenance our living lore.

And so it is for all who dwell within the realm of Evermore.

Surely there are some to whom the Passage here has been denied,

who lived their lives as if it didn't matter that they never tried.

I know that some refused to think that faith alone could be the Door.

But I cannot recall their names to grieve for them in Evermore.

All of those now gathered here allowed His love to rule their lives.

And I have seen them reunite: parents with kids, husbands with wives.

But all the blessings I've beheld are nothing to what's yet in store,

for this is what He said to me when I arrived in Evermore.

The pain, which I once knew, now seems to me like someone else's tale.

And only all the strength produced by all my hardships does prevail.

But finally now I clearly see how all the burdens I once bore

prepared me for the part that I will play now here in Evermore.

Although this is a place of rest, there is great opportunity.

For here His servants have been blessed with endless possibility.

And there's no way that any task could seem like it was but a chore

while basking in the love by which He lightens all of Evermore.

But there's a gulf now fixed between this world and that from which I came.

If I but could, I'd journey back and noise abroad the Savior's fame.

But I must trust His plan just like I did when I was there before

and pray that you, who've heard this tale, will join me here in Evermore.

**Stewards of Middle-earth **is **Volume Two** of **Beyond the War of the Ring**


End file.
